


I Won't Hesitate (for you)

by bichaelmanes



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Background Echo, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Miscommunication, Murder on the Orient Express au, Rosa is dead from minute 1 guys, i love this au with all my heart, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-07 07:51:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 45,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21454579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bichaelmanes/pseuds/bichaelmanes
Summary: Alex Manes, renowned Private Detective, is resting board the Orient Express, after solving an open-and-shut case in Istanbul, when tragedy strikes and one of the passengers is discovered murdered in a locked cabin. Knowing he might be the only one who can solve this locked-room mystery, Alex takes it upon himself to solve this - seemingly - simple case.Things quickly take a turn for the complicated as a 10-year-old murder case becomes connected to the current victim, the passengers might not be as trustworthy as they seem and Alex runs into a few old acquaintances.The case may not be as simple as Alex first assumed, and soon he is faced with an impossible choice.Will Alex solve this case, or does a murderer walk free?Based on Dame Agatha Christie's novel and the most recent movie adaptation of Murder on the Orient Express.
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 120
Kudos: 112





	1. I've been waiting for this moment (all my life)

**Author's Note:**

> I started this way back in July, the first story idea that stuck with me for longer than ten seconds. Instead of starting to write immediately, like I usually do, I started by outlining all the chapters. Based on that, I have managed to finish the entire story, before giving into the temptation of posting it. I plan on posting a chapter at least once a week.
> 
> I hope you guys like it!
> 
> Also who can guess the songs that inspired the chapter and story titles?
> 
> A special thanks to Aileen (@acomebackstory), Callie (@callieramics), @hm-arn, @royalshadowhunter and @ladymajavader over on Tumblr for their continued support and cheerleading. I don't know if I would've finished it without you guys!
> 
> _ **In this chapter:** We meet Alex Manes, Private Detective and control freek, after successfully having closed a case in Istanbul. On a whim, he decides to return to Paris by Orient Express. On board, he runs into some old acquaintances._

_Late August,1920_

It was the month of the ratification of the 19th amendment. Whilst women throughout America were celebrating a resounding success (though most were not allowed to vote until well into 1921), a local New Mexian newspaper reported a tragic story:

** _ Ortecho Family Drama Unfolds: Rosa Ortecho (11) disappears in the dead of night. Police suspect foul play. _ **

The Ortechos were stellar chefs of Mexican descent, moving to New Mexico to open their first US-based restaurant. While the country wasn’t as welcoming to them as they had hoped, the food spoke for itself and soon Ortecho’s Bistro had built a faithful customer base.

Mr. Ortecho ran the restaurant alone, after Mrs. Ortecho was committed to a mental institution, and raised his daughters with the pride and flair worthy of a cook. Their youngest, Liz, was 9 when the drama unfolded. Rosa and Liz shared a bedroom and their sisterly bond was as close as it could be. Liz adored Rosa.

So when she woke up on that faithful night, awoken by a cold draft from a window that had most certainly _not_ been open when Mikey had tucked them in, and she looked over to find Rosa’s bed empty, a part of Liz died on the spot. Screaming, she quickly woke up the entire house, and within a few hours, the entire town was up and looking for Chef Ortecho’s eldest daughter.

Detective Valenti of the local sheriff’s department was put on the case, but the bedroom held no clues other than an open window and the land surrounding the house was large and not easily traversed. It was commonly agreed that the kidnapper could not have gone far.

_“After two weeks of silence, Chef Ortecho finally allowed reporters on his property, to appeal to the kidnappers and anyone who has any information on the whereabouts of his daughter. ‘Please,’ Chef Ortecho pleads, desperation clear in his voice, “Please, Rosa and Liz are all I have. If I lose one of them…please, return my daughter, Liz’s sister. She’s just an eleven-year-old girl.’ Afterwards, Chef Ortecho was too overcome with emotion to speak, and Detective Valenti shooed the reporters out of the house.”_

Not long after the interview was released, Detective Valenti brought terrible news; the body of Rosa Ortecho was found a few miles from the house, half-buried in a forest. The kidnapping had become a murder.

The Ortecho family was wrecked. The restaurant closed indefinitely and Chef Ortecho and his only remaining daughter were barely seen in public.

Detective Valenti stayed on the case as long as he could. He had solved all cases that came before, even if they were deemed ‘unsolvable’ and was driven to solve this one. But the longer he went on, the colder the trail got. Several suspects were named, but none had clear motives, and all had believable alibis.

The case grew cold.

_Present day, 19th of October, 1935_

Alex Manes shook hands with the Police Captain of Istanbul’s biggest precinct. He had just assisted in solving a very complicated theft and the thief was now safely behind bars. This is what he loved about his job; he got to travel to all kinds of places to help people.

“_Teşekkürler_, Mr Manes. We could not have solved this case without you,” the captain said.

Alex smiled. “You had all the facts already, all that was needed was to put them together. The world is built on logic, one just needs to learn to see it.”

The captain shook his head with a smile. “As you say, Mr Manes.” The two of them stepped outside, into the warm autumn air. The city was bustling with people, the air filled with delicious smells of spices and coffee. “Will you be enjoying our grand city, Mr Manes? The Haga Sofia is open for tourists now.” The captain couldn’t withhold a small hint of disapproval at the city’s decision to turn the greatest mosque into a museum.

Alex shook his head, shrugging on his coat and putting on his cowboy hat, the only thing he kept from his childhood years. “No. There’s a case waiting in New York. I’m planning on traveling to London tonight, so I can be in New York in time for Thanksgiving.”

“If I may be so bold, take the Orient Express,” the captain said, his face lighting up. “The wife and I saved up enough money a few years ago, and we went by Orient Express to Paris. The ride is beautiful.”

Alex looked the captain up and down, noting the crooked tie and the dishevelled hair. The captain was busy and criminally underpaid, yet he seemed like a decent fellow. “I thank you, Captain.” He held out his hand again.

“And I, you, Captain.”

“Just Mr Manes now, I’m afraid,” Alex corrected. He straightened his hat and began to walk towards his hotel, enjoying the walk in the early autumn sun and a city in bloom. If his father knew he was in Turkish country, he would not hesitate to call Alex a traitor. But Alex wasn’t in America anymore, and neither was he in the Army. His father had no control over his life anymore, and Alex preferred it this way. Jesse Manes’ racist and discriminatory lifestyle was not something Alex wanted anything to do with.

At the hotel, he tightly packed his suitcase and took a taxicab to the train station. A line was forming at the Bucharest ticket booth, but the Paris ticket booth was line-free. Alex walked right up. “Good afternoon. I was wondering if there were any tickets left for the 10.31 to Paris?”

The man looked up and they both did a double take. “_Alex_?”

“_Flint?_” Alex stared open-mouthed at his older brother, who was in full Orient Express costume, looking extremely bored. Flint and Alex hadn’t gotten along in their youth, but when they were both in the Army, they rekindled some of their brotherly bond. After Alex was honourably discharged, they lost touch.

“Little brother!” Flint boomed, making several passengers look around in surprise. He jumped up and pulled Alex into a bone-crushing hug. “It’s been a while, what you been up to?”

Alex chuckled and patted his brother’s back. While he had grown fond of Flint in their three years on the force together, it was still uncomfortable to be greeted this way. Flint had been the worst bully of all his brothers. “Oh, you know, solving some cases, travelling the world. How about you?”

“Been working here for a year now. Father is the new director of the _Compagnie_.”

Alex scoffed. “The French must love that.”

“It wasn’t the most popular decision, no. But you know Father, once he sets his mind to something, he gets it.” Flint rolled his eyes, and Alex felt a strange sort of warmth. He had always been the only one to be at odds with their father, and it was strange to share this with his brother. “Anyway, after I was discharged, I really needed a job and he landed me this one. The work is boring but living in Istanbul is a dream. Did you know they opened the Haga Sofia to the public now? It’s stunning.”

“Yes, I did, but sadly, I did not have time. And I have to return to New York before Thanksgiving. So, can you get me a ticket to Paris?”

Flint clicked his tongue, looking remorseful. “Sorry, Alex, everything was fully booked weeks ago. But if you really need to go to Paris, I can put you on the Belgrade car. There’s a direct line to Paris from Belgrade as well, on the Arlberg-Orient Express, and the transfer is only a couple of hours.”

Alex sighed, but took out his check book. “Well, I could complain, but what would that help?”

“Tell that to all the passengers to whom I had to deliver the same message.” The two brothers laughed as Alex wrote out the check. “Here’s your ticket, little brother. Don’t lose it, or they’ll toss you out halfway to Sofia. Even if you’re the boss’s son.”

“I think being Alex Manes makes me more likely to be tossed out, but I’ll keep it safe, nonetheless. Thanks, Flint. It was good seeing you.”

“Same to you, man. If you’re ever in Istanbul again, don’t hesitate to visit.”

“I’ll keep it in mind. See you around!” Alex took up his suitcase and carried it over to the Belgrade carriage. He worked his way through a crowd of people, all of them were ready to board the Paris carriage. A young, dark woman was supporting a middle-aged, frail-looking woman who could only be her mother. A blonde, high society woman was ordering her and her husband’s suitcases to be brought on the train. Alex almost tripped over a man who was tying his shoelace. “Oh, excuse me,” Alex said, side-stepping the man. A white coat was hanging over his arm. _A doctor_, Alex deduced easily, then moved on.

A man helped Alex haul his suitcase on the train and find his cabin. It was a single cabin, and Alex exhaled. Sharing a cabin was murder on his senses, which were always in overtaxed at the end of the day, and there was nothing better than reading a good book to wind down, with no distractions. “Thank you, kind sir,” Alex said, giving the man a generous tip. The case in Istanbul had paid very well.

“The dining carriage is that way, just pass through the Paris carriage and you will find it there. Breakfast is served at 8.30am, lunch at noon, tea at 4pm and dinner at 7. Should you need anything else, you can ring this bell and the conductor will be right with you.”

“Is there one conductor for the whole train?” Alex asked, incredulously. That seemed too much work for one man, as several carriages would be added in Venice and Lausanne.

The man laughed. “Certainly not, sir. Every carriage has its own conductor, who has a small cabin at the end of each carriages. At night, the doors between carriages will be closed for safety reasons, but everyone still has a right to call upon the conductor at all times.”

“That’s excellent, thank you very much. Enjoy your day.”

“You as well, sir.”

The man closed the door behind him, and Alex sank into his bunk with a heavy sigh. His leg was aching. He swore. He’d been walking around too much on it and the scar near his knee was acting up heavily. Alex stretched his leg with a groan, just as the whistle outside sounded and the train shocked into movement.

Alex looked out the window as the pulled out the train station. Istanbul had been nice, but after the chaos of the city, Alex was looking forward to a restful week on the train. He needed to recharge before his major case in New York.

He watched the city centre turn into the less populated outer cities and then into wide open nature. With another groan, he opened his trunk and took out his book. It had been locked in his trunk ever since he arrived, and now he finally had the time to read the newest murder mystery.

Just as Alex had gotten emerged in the story, a knock sounded, startling him. He blinked, reorienting himself, then said, “Come in!”

The door slid open and a man in a conductor’s uniform stepped in. “I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, but a cabin in the Paris carriage just became available and my boss has off – ” Alex froze as he looked up at the man, and their eyes met. “_Alex_?” The way his name rolled of the conductor’s tongue catapulted Alex straight into his teenage years, and his heart soared and sank all at once.

“_Michael?_”

The silence stretched between them for a full minute, both of them staring, the echoes of years long past the only thing that made any noise. Finally, Michael blinked and cleared his throat, “As I was saying, my boss has offered you the empty cabin. Now I know why.” The bitterness in Michael’s voice made Alex feel like he’d been slapped in the face.

“Michael, I – ”

“If you’ll follow me. _Sir_.” Michael turned on his heels sharply and walked out, leaving Alex to struggle to his feet, pick up his trunk and drag it along with him to the next carriage. Michael’s silence was icy, leaving Alex feeling uncomfortable the entire trip. Michael stopped in front of a cabin roughly in the middle of the carriage, opening the door with a bang and standing aside. “Your cabin, Mr Manes.” Michael never looked at him once. “Courtesy of _Master Sergeant_ Manes.” He turned to leave.

“Michael, wait.” Alex dropped his suitcase and grabbed Michael’s arm. Michael froze, but didn’t turn back. “I haven’t seen or talked to my father for two years.”

Michael scoffed. “I don’t care anymore, Alex. You enjoy your trip.”

Alex recoiled as if Michael had slapped him. Speechless and with a constricted throat, he watched Michael walk to the dining carriage and disappear. Feeling his eyes burn, he blinked rapidly and turned to enter his new cabin. He was stopped short when he heard an all-too-familiar voice. “Alex.”

Alex was once again catapulted into a past, but this time not a past he’d care to remember. He squared his shoulders, snapped all his walls in place and turned around. “Father.”

“Flint said there was a guest wanting to go to Paris on the Belgrade carriage. I did not realize it was you.” Master Sergeant – no, _Compagnie_ director Manes looked as disapproving and strict as ever. Alex hated looking at his face more than anything else.

“Guess he wanted to spare you,” Alex said curtly. Then, as to not be discourteous, “Thank you for offering the cabin to me.”

Jesse Manes simply made a non-committal sound. “Are you still solving other people’s problems for them?”

“A private investigator, you mean?” His father had never approved of his career choice, but then again, he’d also been disappointed when Alex was medically discharged after only three years. “Yes, I am. I just helped solve a major case in Istanbul. Not that you’d be impressed, it didn’t involve actively trying to kill someone.” In the old days, a comment like that would’ve resulted in a vicious beating. But Alex was a grown man now, with several years of combat training under his belt, so all Jesse Manes could do was ball his fists and grit his teeth.

“Welcome aboard my train, Alexander.” Director Manes turned on his heel and left the carriage. The door next to his cabin opened, and the blonde woman from the platform stuck her head out the door.

“Is everything alright out here?” She had an American accent.

Alex managed a smile. “Of course, ma’am. I’m sorry if I disturbed you, I keep running into old friends.”

“A fellow American! A pleasure. My name is Isobel Bracken, and this here is my husband.” A dark-haired man wrapped an arm around her shoulder and she smiled at him with affection.

“Noah Bracken, a pleasure to meet you.”

“Manes. Alex Manes.” The two men shook hands. Alex felt an unexplainable shiver run up his spine, so fast that he might have imagined it, when he looked into Mr Bracken’s eyes. Alex couldn’t put his finger on the feeling, but he felt his guard raise slightly.

“The private detective?” Isobel straightened, an expression on her face Alex found difficult to read. “I read about the case you solved recently in Algiers. Unbelievable, how such a tiny detail can solve such a major case. Impressive!”

Alex smiled indulgently. He didn’t much care for the fame his work brought him, he enjoyed flying under the radar, and people recognizing his name would only make his work harder in the long run. “Thank you, Mrs Bracken. If you’ll excuse me, I was just relocated to this cabin and I’d like to unpack.”

Mr Bracken nodded and went back inside, but Isobel lingered a single moment longer, frowning. “I was told a Miss Cameron would be in the adjoining cabin.”

Alex shrugged, his mind already wandering. “I guess she never showed up. Good afternoon.” He went inside his cabin, unpacked properly this time and sat on his bed, staring out the window. Running into Michael on a train he never even planned on taking before earlier today had rattled him in a way he never expected.

It had been ten years since Alex had seen Michael. A lot had happened since then. He’d built up a new life for himself, a life that didn’t include Michael, and while it had hurt more than he could possibly say to make that choice, Alex thought he’d gotten over Michael.

Apparently not.


	2. Oh, take me back (to the night we met)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _**In this chapter:** We got back to the day Alex met Michael. In the present day, Alex meets a certain doctor, a kind young woman named Beth and her father, and the lovely DeLuca duo. Alex tries to talk to Michael. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special thanks to Aileen (@acomebackstory), Callie (@callieramics), @hm-arn, @royalshadowhunter and @ladymajavader over on Tumblr for their continued support and cheerleading. I don't know if I would've finished it without you guys!
> 
> Who can guess the song that inspired this chapter?

_September, 1923_

Alex was barely 15, hiding so deep in the closet it was a wonder anyone could see him at all and as miserable as he could possibly imagine being, when Michael Guerin walked into his life. He was living in a narrow-minded small town under the tyranny of his father and absolutely horrendous three older brothers. His mother had left years ago, having finally had enough of Jesse Manes’ behaviour, and had _not_ taken Alex with her. Even now, years later, when he was hiding everything about himself in all-black clothes and music, her decision not to save him too still hurt worse than anything his father did to him.

The small town was still talking about the gruesome murder of eleven-year-old Rosa Ortecho, which, even three years later, had not been solved. The remaining members of the Ortecho family had recently moved out of state, no longer able to stand the memories that dwelt there. Michael Guerin arrived not long after, an orphan having run away from his latest foster home after his two siblings were adopted and he wasn’t. He lived on the ranch just outside the town, helping Mr Foster raise and care for the horses in exchange for a bed and food. The town gossip was buzzing for two weeks after Michael arrived, as the boy in the skin-tight trousers and wild curls, on top of which perpetually rested a black cowboy hat, stood out, and outsiders were generally mistrusted. Add to that the anger problem Michael seemed to have, and soon enough everyone knew his name, background and how many times Sheriff Green had kept him in jail overnight.

“You are not to associate with this boy, Alex,” Master Sergeant Manes said one night at dinner. “He’s bad news and will bring shame to our family.”

Alex, exhausted from yet another day of pretending to be someone he wasn’t, hadn’t been able to stop the words spilling from his mouth, “And God forbid anyone speaks ill of our picture-perfect family.”

The next day he’d had difficulty sitting and had therefore stayed on his feet during lunch at school. He was always an outsider. ‘The freak who eats standing upright’ was hardly the worst thing people said about him. He stood underneath a tree, wincing every time he shifted his weight and bit into his apple when a figure appeared in front of him. “Hey.” It was Michael, looking at him with a frown on his face. Alex remembered the words his father had spoken, and the lesson he’d tried to teach Alex afterwards, and he smiled.

“Hey.”

“You’re standing on my spot.” Alex’s smile vanished, and his heart sank. He’d hoped this other outsider would be at least civil, but apparently the town gossip had the right of it, for once. “This is usually where I come to smoke during break.”

“Sorry,” Alex muttered, tossing his apple into his bag and moving to leave. “Wouldn’t want to cut into your extremely busy schedule.” He started to move, wincing with every step he took.

“Hey, you alright?” Michael called after him, and when Alex turned, he saw a look of worry on his face.

Alex nodded, the lie coming from his mouth with practiced ease. “Yeah, I fell from my horse yesterday. I’m not that skilled a rider.”

Michael narrowed his eyes for a moment, and Alex had the weird sensation that he could see right through him. Then he started pushing up the sleeve on his right arm. Alex stepped closer as Michael held out his forearm. “Last foster family thought I was possessed. Apparently, having trust and anger issues is ‘the devil’s influence’.” Alex gasped as he saw the very clear outline of a cross burned into Michael’s skin. Horrified, he looked up to see Michael wearing a painful grimace, which Alex was sure was supposed to be a confident smile. “And people ask why I ran away.”

“Jesus, I’m so sorry,” Alex said, his eyes drawn once again to the cross. He shivered as he tried in vain not to imagine the pain Michael had been through. Michael pulled his sleeve back over it.

“It’s alright,” he said, then paused and scoffed. “It’s not,” he continued, “but I’ll survive.”

Alex looked up at the other boy and saw for the first time a genuine smile on his face. Alex felt himself relax slightly. “My father thinks violence teaches the best lessons,” he admitted softly, before he could stop himself. He realized immediately this was the first time he’d ever said it out loud. “I talked back to him last night. You don’t want to see my backside.”

Michael clicked his tongue and shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

Alex nodded, the held out his hand. “I’m Alex. Alex Manes.”

Michael looked at Alex’s hand for a moment, as if surprised anyone wanted to touch him. Then he took it, and a shock went through Alex’s system as if Michael was filled with electricity. “Michael Guerin. Nice to meet you, Alex.”

_Present day, 19th of October, 1935_

A lot can be said against travelling by train, but the food wasn’t one of them. Alex felt like he was travelling on a cruiseship, he had never lived in such luxury. Airmen didn’t really earn much, and while his income had seen a definite uptick since becoming a PI, he had never thought of treating himself like this.

He’d absolutely gorged himself on as much as he could at the lunch buffet two hours into the journey, and now had loaded his plate with pastas, salads and a very nice rare steak for his dinner. He sat down at the far end of the dining carriage and sat back, slowly working his way through his food as he watched the other travellers. Isobel and Noah Bracken were sitting at the other end, with Noah immersed in a newspaper looking vaguely angry and Isobel gazing out the window, sipping a fancy cocktail and looking supremely bored. The other patrons he recognized from the station. At the table next to him, the mother and daughter were sitting. The mother looked better than she had on the platform. Alex had more time to take them in now, automatically committing their faces to memory. They were identical in several ways; both had dark skin tones, black hair that curled heavily and an identical smile. They differed in other ways, the daughter was a little softer in her cheekbones, whilst her mother was a foot taller than her. The older woman said something, and her daughter giggled. They seemed to really enjoy their trip. The young doctor Alex had almost tripped over on the station in Istanbul walked past him holding a glass of red wine, nodding politely. Alex inclined his head in response.

A table further back seated an older Latino gentleman with a younger woman, probably (and hopefully) his daughter. The man was talking loudly. “This pasta is _de madre_! It is too dry, too little sauce! I would like to see the chef sometime during this trip!” His daughter nodded her head indulgently, taking a bite from her own pasta and seeming to enjoy it, despite what her father said.

“Excuse me.” Alex looked up to see the doctor in front of him. He was a handsome man, tall, with black hair and dark eyes. He had shed the white coat. “You’re the man whom I almost tripped, right? The detective?” He was holding two glasses of wine, one of which he set down on the table.

His reputation was spreading. That’s…great. Alex smiled despite it. “I am. Alex Manes, at your service.”

“Kyle. At yours.” They shook hands. “May I sit? Can I offer you a glass of wine?” At Alex’s nod, Kyle took the seat across from him and pushed the glass towards him. Alex sipped it carefully; it was nice and fruity. “Where are you travelling to?”

“I’m going back to America; I have a new case waiting for me there.”

Kyle’s eyes began to glimmer. “I keep up with all your cases in the newspaper. The 1933 Montreal murder? Amazing solve.” Alex smiled indulgently. “I read that when I was procrastinating studying for my final exams. It was a great distraction.”

“You’re…welcome?” Kyle chuckled and took a sip of his own wine. “What is your final destination?”

A smile stretched on Kyle’s face. “There’s a job waiting for me in Paris. I helped out an old friend from medical school in Istanbul, and now I’m packing up my life and moving across the pond indefinitely.”

“Your first job?”

“Yeah, my first real appointment as a doctor.” Kyle looked extremely proud of himself. “I’ve been mostly helping out friends and family, but my work in Istanbul caught the attention of a top surgeon in Paris. He recommended me for the job.”

Alex inclined his head. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

They continued to talk over dinner and wine, discussing new developments in medicine and Alex walked him through one of his minor cases, Kyle listening in awe. When Alex finished the last of his food, Kyle took a final sip of wine and rose. “It’s been a pleasure talking to you, Mr Manes. I hope to see you around?”

“Of that I have no doubt.”

Kyle walked away, exiting the dining carriage. Alex finished his wine in silence after that, watching the other guests finish their food and return to their respective cabins. Alex was the last to remain behind, finishing his wine at his own leisure.

The door opened just as Alex took the last sip. He looked up and nearly snorted the wine up through his nose. Michael had walked in, looking absolutely gorgeous in his conductor’s uniform.

Alex had been unable to focus on anything much throughout the day, his mind filled with memories of his first meeting with Michael and the year that followed. He’d mostly stayed in his cabin, trying to figure out what to do about this situation. The memory of Michael in that uniform did not help. Seeing him in it again made the situation worse.

Gathering his wits, he rose as Michael started clearing out the dishes. “Michael,” he said, and a glass smashed to the floor. It ringed in the silence that followed, as Michael kept his back to Alex and Alex stared at him with pain in his heart.

“Can I help you, sir?” Michael said, the icy tone sending shivers down Alex’s back.

“Please, talk to me, Guerin. It’s been so long.”

Michael spun around, his hands clutching a wineglass with lipstick on the edge. “Talk about _what_, exactly, Alex? About how I said I loved you and you left without saying goodbye? About how you nearly died in Nicaragua and I had to hear about it from your _brother_? About how you never wrote to me _once_? What do _you_ want to talk about?”

Alex’s mouth opened, but no words came out. His heart was aching, because he knew Michael was right and there was nothing Alex could do to fix it. “Michael, I – ”

Michael scoffed. “Yeah, I thought so. Have a good day, Mr Manes.” He jerked back around and continued to clean up, making it clear that this conversation was over.

Alex ached to reach out and touch him, but Michael had made his feelings very clear. It was no use.

He’d lost Michael forever.

He quickly left the dining carriage, before the emotions completely overcame in. As he was still wiping his eyes, he ran into the daughter of the man complaining about the food. “Oh, my apologies, miss, I’m not watching where I’m going.”

The woman looked up at him, and her brow furrowed in concern. “Are you alright, sir?”

Alex swallowed the lump in his throat and put on a smile. No lady should ever have to see him cry. It was bad enough that Michael probably heard him sniffle as he left the carriage. “I’m perfectly alright, miss. Are you enjoying your trip?”

Her face lit up. “Oh yes! I’ve never been on such a luxurious journey, but my father has recently opened a restaurant in Paris and it’s doing so well we had money to go on holiday.” She held out her hand. “I’m Beth.”

“Alex Manes,” he said, bending down to brush his lips to her hand. “It’s nice to meet you. So your father is a chef?” Beth nodded. “That explains the criticism.”

She laughed out loud, brushing her long black hair away from her face. “Yeah, any food he hasn’t cooked he thinks is terrible. I told the staff not to pay attention.”

“Beth! _Mija_, where have you gone off to?” Beth rolled her eyes as her father appeared from the second closest cabin.

“This is why I took a separate cabin,” she confided in him in a low voice. Alex smiled at them both. “_Papi,_ this is Alex Manes.”

Her father approached him, looking him up and down. Alex couldn’t shake the feeling he was being checked out for suitability as a son-in-law. He was unsure how he was going to explain to this man that Beth, while beautiful, was _not_ his type. But the man just held out his hand. “My name is Arthur Otto. Manes? Are you that detective? The Montreal Murder?”

Did everyone on this train know who he was? He had never been recognized this much before. “I am he,” Alex confirmed.

“It’s good that there are good men like you doing the work the police can’t do. Thank you, Mr Manes.” Arthur slapped Alex’s shoulder as he shook his hand firmly. Alex felt his face grow hot. He was unused to this kind of attention. “Are you coming, Beth? I want to play one more game of cards before we go to bed.”

“Yes, _papi_.” She smiled up at Alex, her kind eyes sparkling. “Good to meet you, Mr Manes.”

“Likewise.” Father and daughter disappeared inside one of the cabins, and Alex continued to his own. He was exhausted and just wanted to sleep so this journey would be over quicker. Whatever enjoyment he’d gotten out of this fancy train had gone with Michael’s less than cold demeaner. The sooner they were in Paris the better.

“Mr Manes!” _Son of a bitch_. Dr Kyle was waving at him from the other side of the carriage. “Mr Manes, come meet the loveliest passengers on this train. The beautiful Mimi DeLuca, and her equally charming daughter Maria.” Sighing, but resigning himself to even more social interaction, Alex made his way to the cabin at the end. Maria and Mrs DeLuca were indeed charming, introducing themselves to him with warm smiles and offering him a glass of bourbon, which he gladly accepted. The ladies and Kyle were excellent company, and for a while, Alex forgot his exhaustion and his romantic troubles as the four of them played cards, talked and drank a little too much bourbon.

It was past midnight when Kyle and Alex left the ladies’ cabin and went into their separate cabins after wishing each other a good night.

Alex felt quite buzzed. That and his damned knee combined to a very clumsy way to his bed, but when he finally lay back, he sighed deeply. He was glad to have spent the evening in such excellent company. Even though it had mentally exhausted him, he felt infinitely better as well. Michael was still there, in the back of his mind, but the alcohol had drowned him out as much as possible.

Michael.

Alex turned onto his side and felt himself drifting off to a place where the last ten years never happened. Where he could freely wrap his arms around Michael’s strong frame, inhale his scent and kiss him without an ache in his heart. He dreamt of a better place.

He woke up to a scream.

_“NOOOO!! HE’S DEAD! SOMEONE PLEASE HELP!! HE’S BEEN KILLED, MY HUSBAND IS DEAD!!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave kudos and comments, so I know whether you guys like it!
> 
> also find me on tumblr @bichaelmanes


	3. Do not try me, devil devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _**In this chapter:** We meet Detective Valenti who tries to solve the Rosa Ortecho case. In the present day, we'll find out the source of the screaming and Alex's three day holiday is cancelled. Alex and the young doctor Kyle team up. A connection is found._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special thanks to Aileen (@acomebackstory), Callie (@callieramics), @hm-arn, @royalshadowhunter and @ladymajavader over on Tumblr for their continued support and cheerleading. I don't know if I would've finished it without you guys!
> 
> Last week's chapter was titled "Oh take me back (to the night we met)" and it was taken from the song "The Night We Met" by Lord Huron and Phoebe Bridgers. This was guessed correctly by @hmd23!
> 
> Can anyone guess this week's title AND performing artist?

_October, 1920_

Almost a month after the kidnap and murder of Rosa Ortecho, Detective Valenti still had no solid leads. The poor girl’s body was completely clean of traces. Not even a hair was out of place on her body; it was as if she’d gone to sleep and simply never woke up again. Yet her windpipe was crushed, so Detective Valenti knew it was murder.

What he didn’t know, was who did it.

There were several tips from the local community. Most of it was false, Jim Valenti knew. Several people had reported a homeless veteran. He was supposedly sighted near the Ortecho residence around the time of the kidnap. Jim did his job, brought the man in, and released him the same day. War had destroyed the poor man’s mind and had taken his body with it. This man was neither mentally nor physically capable of planning a kidnap and murder without leaving any trace. Detective Valenti gave the man the address of his wife’s organization, that helped down-on-their-luck veterans get back on their feet. He doubted the man would go, but it was all he could do for the poor man.

The first real lead came a fortnight after the body had been discovered. Several of Chef Ortecho’s regulars had seen a young man fighting with Chef Ortecho one evening, about a month before the kidnapping took place. None of the stories matched on _what_ they were fighting over, but they all ended the same; with the young man storming off and yelling, “You’re going to regret this, Ortecho!”

So Detective Valenti went to pick up the young man, who refused to identify himself and did not seem to have any legal documents to speak off. Jim suspected he was a recent immigrant still waiting for his papers. Or perhaps an illegal. It did not matter. He wasn’t border police; he was trying to solve a murder in his town.

The man steadfastly denied any involvement or knowledge, no matter what tactics Valenti and his department threw at him.

Apparently, the argument had been about a job Chef Ortecho had denied him. Tempers had run high, and the young man had said some unwise things. “I would never hurt anyone, Detective Valenti. I swear this.”

“I would be more inclined to belief you if you told us your name.” Detective Valenti said coldly. It was the third day of interrogation and he was beginning to lose patience. Either this man really did not know anything, or he was toying with them all. Either way, it was a frustrating process.

The young man shook his head, dark eyes glittering in the interrogation room’s half-light. “I cannot. I have no papers to prove myself, no real way to prove who I am. If I tell you my name, you will use all available measures to besmirch my name. I will never find any work. I’m sorry, Detective. I wish it were different.”

Five days Detective Valenti held the man in custody. Any and all legal tactics (and sometimes slightly illegal ones) were thrown at the man. Nothing yielded any results. The state’s capital was putting pressure on the sheriff’s department to just accuse this man, but Jim refused. He knew the state liked the young man as a suspect because he was dark-skinned and had no papers to speak off. To them it didn’t matter. He was guilty of being non-white, and that was good enough for them. Jim Valenti refused to participate in such barbaric practices. He wanted the real murderer, not some ponzi people could use to justify their racism.

So on the sixth day, Detective Valenti let the man go, with the Sheriff’s Department’s sincerest apologies.

They were back to square one.

Cursing profusely, Jim Valenti sat at his desk and stared at the picture of Rosa Ortecho from when she was found in the forest. He wanted justice for this poor young girl who was taken before her time.

But it was looking more and more as if that justice would never come.

_Present day, 20th of October, 1935_

Alex Manes sat bold upright, as the shriek from the cabin next to him continued and changed to hysterical sobs. There was shouting outside his cabin and hurried footsteps up and down the corridor. Several more people screamed or cursed.

As fast as his bad knee would allow, Alex dressed himself just enough to be decent and then yanked open his cabin door.

Outside, it was pandemonium. All the passengers were crowded around the Bracken’s cabin, from which hysterical sobs were still floating. “Move!” Alex shouted, and he started pushing a tall man he had not seen before aside. Beth and Mr Otto realized who was doing the pushing and immediately forced everyone further back, away from the door to clear a path for him. Alex reached the cabin door, which was closed. He tried the handle, but it was no use. It was locked. “Michael!” he yelled loudly, and the man appeared immediately, looking half-terrified and half-apprehensive. “Keys,” Alex said shortly, no time for pleasantries. Michael handed over the keys and Alex jammed the master key in the lock. Within seconds, he yanked open the door. His breath caught in his throat, and several people behind him gasped. Isobel Bracken was on the floor, her body flung over the still body of her husband, who was…drenched in blood.

“Mrs Bracken!” Alex said in astonishment. Behind him, someone had begun to sob.

Isobel looked up, her eyes red and her face wet from tears. “He’s _dead!_” she screeched. “Someone _killed _him! My husband!!” She was covered in his blood; her nightgown was soaked through and her blonde hair had stained pink in some places.

“Isobel, you need to come away from there now,” Alex said as calm as he could, even as his blood ran cold. A man was murdered in a locked cabin on a moving train. Worst – or maybe best, depending how one looked at it – of all, the carriage was locked at night.

Meaning the murderer was still in their midst.

This train ride had just become a murder scene.

“Out of the way, out of the way! What’s going on here?”

“Director Manes, there’s been a murder!” That was Mimi DeLuca’s voice, weaker than it had been last night and constricted with barely contained emotion.

“A murder? Wha – ?” Jesse Manes appeared in the doorway, looked in and cursed profusely. “That’s Noah Bracken, the director of the biggest oil company in the Midwest!”

Alex rolled his eyes. He knew his father was already thinking of the death of his reputation instead of the literal death that had happened here. Making a snap decision, he turned around. “A murder, yes, Director Manes. Alright, I need everyone to go back to their cabins, immediately please.”

Shocked and muttering amongst themselves, the small crowd dispersed.

“Michael!” Alex called, not even thinking about it. Michael was beside him immediately, looking grim. “Please take Mrs Bracken out of this cabin. Take her to the dining carriage, close it to the public. Keep the other door closed as well. Instruct the train staff that meals will be served in the cabins until further notice.” Michael nodded and began prying a still hysterical Isobel from her husband’s body.

As Michael wrestled her out the cabin, Jesse Manes grabbed Alex’s upper arm quite roughly. Alex flashed back to his youth momentarily, before yanking his arm from the grip and turning around to face his father. “What do you think you’re doing, Alex?” Jesse Manes hissed.

Alex leaned in close. “Solving your problem for you,” he hissed. Then he straightened. “Dr Kyle!” he called to the front of the carriage.

Kyle came out of his cabin, white as a sheet and looking shocked. “Yes?”

“Am I correct in assuming you covered forensic examinations in your studies?”

Kyle trotted over and swallowed hard. “You are, though it is not my specialty.”

“It will have to do. I will assist with any knowledge I have acquired over the years. But we need to examine this body and do it quickly. This was a murder and we need to find the murderer before we arrive in Paris, or we lose them forever,” Alex said, his logical brain going as fast as possible. Kyle nodded and returned to his cabin for his medical bag. Alex turned to his father, who was white with barely controlled fury. Some vindictive part of his brain thoroughly enjoyed seeing his father like this, but Alex had no time to dwell. “Director Manes, I need all the passengers to be kept in their cabins until further notice. I need a staff member from another car to stand guard. Under no circumstances is anyone allowed to venture out alone, especially not when we are at a station. The doors to the other cars were locked all night, yes?”

“That is procedure, yes,” Jesse Manes said, his jaw clenched hard. He was not used to being ordered around.

“That means that you and the rest of the staff can be discounted as suspects. So our suspect pool consists of 7 people. Eight,” he corrected himself as he saw Michael making his way towards them, his uniform stained with blood and his hair dishevelled. “Everyone who was present in this carriage after the doors were locked to the moment Mrs Bracken first discovered her husband to be dead.”

“Don’t you mean nine?” Jesse Manes said nastily. “You were present as well.”

Alex saw red with fury for a moment. “If you believe me capable of cold-blooded murder, you’re an even worse judge of character than I thought. Besides, if I _were_ to murder someone, there is only one man for whom I hold enough hatred.” The vague threat hung in the air between them, as Jesse Manes blanched completely, then turned red with an impressive speed.

“You insolent little – ”

“Not so little anymore, _father_. Your precious army saw to that,” Alex spat, getting as close to his father as he felt capable.

“Alex,” a soft voice broke into his red haze, and a warm hand on his arm pulled him a step back. He looked at the hand and recognized it immediately. _Michael._ He looked up at him, and the man was looking at him in a way Alex hadn’t been looked at in close to ten years. Just like that, he was back to being that 16-year-old kid, spending his afternoons with Michael under their tree.

He shook his head to clear the image and took another step back, brushing his own hand to Michael’s ever so lightly in gratitude. Michael broke his gaze and stepped back, looking at Jesse Manes with contempt. “I’m going to solve this murder, father. You can either assist or get the hell out of my way.” He turned to Kyle, who was wearing gloves and carrying his bag, looking awkwardly between the three of them. Colour had somewhat returned to his cheeks and he looked determined. “Are you ready, doctor?” Alex refused to give the situation any more attention that it’d already gotten. They had, after all, a murder to solve.

At Kyle’s nod, Alex turned his back on his father completely and preceded Kyle into the cabin.

The first thing Alex noticed was that it was icy cold in the cabin. The window was open, letting in the crisp morning air. Alex immediately filed this away as odd. He didn’t think the Brackens would have opened that during the night. Which meant it might have been done by the murderer. “Michael, did we stop during the night?”

“Yes, we made a short stop in Vinkovci. It was only ten minutes though. I think it was around 3am?”

Alex nodded. “Can you fetch me my notebook, please? Top drawer of my nightstand.” Michael nodded and vanished, returning almost immediately with the book and a pencil. Alex scribbled down the information on a fresh page, headlining the page with **MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS**. It was a stupid habit but naming all his cases helped him remember them all the better.

Kyle had kneeled down next to Noah Bracken, and Alex now turned his attention fully to the body as well. The man’s dark skin had turned a noticeable shade of pale, his mouth had sagged open and his eyes were closed.

_His eyes were closed_.

“He never woke up,” Alex said out loud, frowning deeply. Kyle, Michael and Director Manes looked at him in surprise. “If he was murdered in his sleep, he would’ve woken up, even for a moment, an automatic reaction to the pain sensation. His eyes are closed. He never woke up.”

“What does that mean?” Michael asked, stepping closer. At Alex’s raised hand, he stopped and stepped back again.

“It means he was probably drugged before he was murdered. Maybe hours before. Maybe just before. Either way, the murderer went out of their way to make sure he made no sound.” Alex looked around and saw a teacup on the floor, chipped. He picked it up with his handkerchief and took a sniff. He coughed. “Yes, barbital.” _Clever, really_. If Noah Bracken had made even the slightest noise, Isobel would’ve woken up and the murderer would’ve been apprehended before being able to escape.

“_Barbital_?” Kyle said, incredulously. “That’s a very heavy sedative, how on earth did someone get hold of that?”

Alex shrugged. It was hardly the first time he’d seen a person drugged by barbital. It had even happened to him once. It had _not_ been a pleasant experience. “It’s usually given for heavy anxieties, for people who cannot go outside on account of fear. And since women are often seen as hysterical and anxious…they get their hands on it quite easily, I assure you, Doctor.”

Kyle clicked his tongue. “Ridiculous.”

“Why don’t you tell your prejudiced colleagues, Doctor?” Alex said, putting the cup down gently and scanning the rest of the cabin for more clues.

Kyle flushed a bit, then straightened himself. “I’m ready to begin examination, Alex. Would you join me?” Alex went to his knees next to him, ignoring the painful twinge in his leg. The two men nodded to each other and Kyle went to work. “Alright, I’m removing the night shirt.”

“Careful,” Alex said, “That might be evidence.”

To his credit, Kyle was very careful to push the shirt out of the way only as much as was necessary for the wounds to reveal themselves. And _wounds_ it was. Kyle and Alex both inhaled sharply. There were at least a dozen stab wounds on Noah Bracken’s torso. “It seemed the murderer wanted to make sure he was dead,” Kyle said, after a moment, his voice slightly constricted. Alex nodded mutely, counting the wounds and making a note of them in his book. “I’m going to take his temperature now.”

While Kyle went to work, Alex looked around the cabin. It was a mess. Isobel had evidently knocked over some stuff as she was trying to get to her husband. A pair of glasses, a book, a water glass, an old pocket watch. Frowning, Alex took out his kerchief again and picked up the watch. It was grievously damaged, its face shattered as if a knife had pierced it at great speed. Which, Alex realized, was probably exactly what happened. The hands were still, set at just a few minutes past 3AM. _Would that be the time of the murder?_ Alex wondered, examining the watch curiously.

“Alright, internal temperature is about…32 degrees,” Kyle piped up, drawing Alex’s attention back to him. “That would put the time of death around…” He checked his own watch. Alex already knew what he was going to say, and so they said it in unison, “Three AM.” Kyle looked at him, surprised. Alex held up the watch, showing three AM.

“Two sources are better than one, my professor always said,” Kyle said, with an attempt at a smile. Alex inclined his head in agreement and made another note in his notebook.

“What can you tell me of the wounds, doctor?” Alex said, wrapping his hand tightly around the watch.

Kyle returned to the body and bent over the wounds to examine them closely. “Well, whoever it was, the murder was not business. Some of these wounds are very ragged, as if someone stabbed him quickly and roughly, as if in anger. Then again, these two,” his gloved pinkie finger pointed out a wound near the heart and on the lower left side, “look more precise. Deliberate. In fact, these two may have been the two that killed him instantly. That’s the heart and that’s the large intestine. The heart is the obvious killer, but if that one hadn’t killed him, this one would have. This much damage to the large intestine releases toxins and waste into the body. It kills a person slow, but it _will_ kill.” He looked at the wounds again and frowned. “Odd. Some wounds go deeper than others, as if the murderer lost their strength halfway through.” Kyle sat back on his heels, frowning deeply. “Detective Manes, nothing makes sense about these wounds. They appear completely random and yet deliberate. Made by passion and yet with cold precision.”

Alex wrote it all down, frowning deeply. “Do you have an explanation?”

Kyle blew out his breath. “If I was a forensic examiner by trade, I might have had. But I’m a doctor. I deal with the living, not the dead. I can only tell you what I see, but not the why.”

Alex nodded. He wished he had his favourite forensic examiner with him from the NYPD. The man was a genius and had, at this point, seen everything. But he didn’t, so it was no point dwelling on the matter. “Any theories on the murder weapon?”

“A knife. It was a sharp blade, no ridges or blemishes to speak of. Military, perhaps. That’s about as precise as I can get.” Kyle rose to his feet, taking off the gloves and running his hands through his hair. He looked pale again. “Nasty business. And his poor wife. They’d only been married for a year, you know. To be widowed so soon is a crying shame.”

Alex nodded, barely registering Kyle’s words, still engrossed in his notebook as he tried to make sense of the details he had so far. _A murder that was not planned yet performed deliberately? Nothing indeed made sense_. “Thank you, Dr Kyle, that will be all for now. Please return to your cabin and stay there until otherwise instructed.”

Wordlessly, Kyle packed up his bag and left the room. Alex remained behind, engrossed in the details and in the room. Slowly, he backed away to the cabin door, so he could have a complete overview of the cabin. Sticking from beneath Noah Bracken’s bed was a newspaper clipping, faded yellow and looking as though it did not belong. Going laboriously to his knees again, he picked it up and examined it. It was only a headline, and incomplete at that, as it was half-burned.

** _ … Ortecho (11). Her body was disc… _ **

Alex froze. _Ortecho_. It couldn’t be. Looking up slowly, he looked at Noah Bracken’s face, then back at the newspaper clipping. _Could this be…?_ Noah Bracken had the complexion, but Alex knew that was by far not enough. However, now that he looked really well, the man before him looked suspiciously like the man Detective Valenti had brought in for questioning. The only real suspect the sheriff’s department had ever had.

“Rosa Ortecho,” he said out loud.

“Ex_cuse_ me?” said Michael and Jesse Manes in unison, making Alex jump. He had completely forgotten they were still there.

Alex showed them the newspaper clipping. “Rosa Ortecho. The girl that was kidnapped and murdered in Roswell, remember? This was the man who did it, or at least the police suspected he did. Noah Bracken, the young immigrant sheriff Valenti once questioned and cleared of all charges on grounds of no evidence. When I made the switch to private investigator, I reviewed the details of the case, see if there was anything the detectives missed back then. I remember the picture of the immigrant man they brought in. It was him,” Alex said, pointed to Noah Bracken. “This wasn’t a random murder at all. This was revenge. For Rosa Ortecho.”

Michael stared in shock at Alex, and Director Manes narrowed his eyes. Alex turned back to the body. _Rosa Ortecho’s murderer. Finally found, and now a victim of a murder himself_.

Alex nearly scoffed. This case was going to be the toughest one he’d taken yet.


	4. You can be (my saving light)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _**In this chapter:** In the past, Michael and Alex grow closer. In the present day, Alex meets the first of the passengers in his attempt to unmask the murderer. Alex and Michael have trouble being around each other._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little early today because I'm not with my computer tonight! Enjoy!
> 
> This chapter is where we earn the M rating! And I took two of the most heartbreaking and soft moments from the show and managed to write it into this AU, I'm very happy about it!
> 
> As always, a special thanks to Aileen (@acomebackstory), Callie (@callieramics), @hm-arn, @royalshadowhunter and @ladymajavader over on Tumblr for their continued support and cheerleading. I don't know if I would've finished it without you guys!
> 
> Last week's chapter was titled "Do not try me, devil devil" and it was taken from the song "Devil Devil" by MILCK and this was guessed correctly by @Lire_Casander! Thank you for reading and great job!
> 
> Can anyone guess this week's title and performing artist?

_June, 1924_

Alex was lying underneath the tree on the schoolyard, the sun warming his face pleasantly. He was eating an apple, just as when he’d first met Michael.

A lot had changed since then.

Michael and Alex had become…friends, to a kind. In a way only abused children can become friends; as fellow victims, wary of all human contact, even each other’s. But they had found a comfortable routine between them, one that kept them both sane and kept Alex away from his father’s house for as much as possible.

After school they studied together in the library, to which his father could hardly protest. He always criticized Alex for his grades; Alex stepping up his studying by spending hours in the library could only please him. If Alex was ever truly able to please his father. On weekends Alex went to help out on the Foster’s Ranch, where Old Foster had enough work for the two of them. His father didn’t approve of Michael, but Alex never mentioned him and simply pretended they never even crossed paths.

But now the holidays approached, and Alex was nervous. He was afraid the Foster’s Ranch wouldn’t provide him with enough of an excuse to be away from home as much as possible. These last few months had been almost bearable at home. Only rarely did Jesse Manes have a reason to beat Alex anymore. Alex was afraid with the extra free time, the beatings would increase too.

“You can always come stay at the ranch indefinitely,” Michael suggested, plucking away on the old guitar he’d gotten from Old Foster. Michael had taken to bringing it to school and play for Alex while Alex stared at him admiringly.

Alex scoffed, “Yeah, my father would love that. His personal boxing ball living away from home at sixteen? He would have to pay for an actual boxing ball, that might just kill him.”

Michael shot him a look that clearly said, _then perish_, but said nothing. He continued to play instead. Alex hummed along, closing his eyes against the bright sunlight. Michael’s guitar playing always managed to relax Alex in a way no other music was able to. Maybe because it was music straight from the source (Michael). Or maybe it was the source itself (Michael).

Either way, his body relaxed slightly. “I’ll survive. I have for fifteen years in that hell hole. I will for another two.”

Michael’s hand slipped from the strings and a truly horrible off-key tone came from the guitar, making Alex wince. “Two?”

“Yeah. I’m going into the army when I’m seventeen. Just like my hero brothers and my highly decorated father.” He tried to keep the bitterness to a bare minimum.

Michael frowned, picking up where he left off in the song, but with less gusto. “The army? You even _want_ to go?”

Alex opened his eyes and met Michael’s dark eyes. Michael looked genuinely upset, and Alex felt his heart twinge. “No. The army is everything I _don’t_ want.” He sat up, the warmth of the sun seeping out of his body like he’d just been dunked in ice water. “But since when do I have a choice?” He started pulling on the grass, yanking it out by the handful and flinging it away from him. “Besides, when I’m in the army, at least I’ll be away from my father. And I’d do _anything_ to be away from him.” Tears stung in his eyes and he wiped them away angrily.

Michael’s warm hand suddenly enveloped the one angrily destroying the grass, stilling his movements. Alex froze. Michael’s touch still sent a shock through Alex’s body. Every time the two of them touched, either for a hug or a high five or any other touch, Alex would feel a bolt of electricity spreading from the place he was touched to the top of his head and the tips of his toes.

It confused and frustrated him. He didn’t know what it meant, why his body reacted that way to a man. He’d read plenty of books to know men often reacted like this to women. Alex did not recognize _that_ feeling, that much he knew at least.

“Here,” Michael said, pulling him from his frustrated brooding. He held out his guitar to Alex, looking at him expectantly. “You’ll need at least some skill to impress those military assholes, so you might as well learn a bit of guitar.”

Michael always did this. Whenever Alex began to pull back into his head, when fear began to take over, when things seemed at their absolute worst, Michael would pull him out of it with a quip and a distraction. After 7 months of friendship, Michael knew Alex better than his own family did. Michael felt safe in a way Alex had never felt with anyone, except maybe his mother.

He smiled and took the guitar, placing it on his knee. Michael chuckled, took it from him and turned it around. “You’re a righty, Alex. That’s the one you’re going to use to actually produce the music.” Michael positioned Alex’s hands like a professional. Alex felt awkward and his fingers kept slipping. Michael chuckled again. “Alright, here.” Before Alex knew what was happening, Michael was sitting very close, one arm slung casually across Alex’s shoulder as his hand helped Alex’s find a comfortable position. Alex felt heat rise to his cheek and he lost track of Michael’s words for a second, as all he could feel was Michael’s exceptional warmth pressed against his side and his rough fingers positioning Alex’s own carefully. “Okay, so this is G. Together with E minor, C and D, the easiest chord to learn. Press down on the strings hard, otherwise the tone will be flat, like now.” Michael ran his right hand across the strings and indeed, the tone fell flat. Alex pressed his fingers harder against the strings. It hurt, but it was a pleasant kind of pain; like he was earning the good notes. “Alright, now you try. Just go from the top to the bottom with your fingers.”

His wrist aching, his fingers screaming against the sting of the metal, Alex pressed down on the strings as hard as he could and brought his fingers from the top string to the bottom string. It did not sound half-bad. Michael smiled encouragingly, and Alex tried a few times, the chord sounding surer and clearer every time. Alex felt his face stretch into a smile as he tried different strumming patterns, taken from memories of Michael playing.

After that Michael taught him two more chords, and suddenly he was playing an actual tune. “There you go!” Michael said, smiling brightly when Alex managed three chords successively without pausing to think. “You might be a natural.”

Alex looked up at him to thank him, but the words stuck in his throat. Michael was still so very close. Their legs were pressed together and if Alex moved forward an inch, their heads would collide quite painfully. Michael’s eyes were large as they stared at each other, both apparently at a loss for words. Alex felt like he might drown in those eyes if he didn’t look away soon, but something stopped him from actually breaking eye contact. His stomach was doing several summersaults, and he felt his cheeks start to burn. They were sharing the same air now. “Thank you,” he managed to croak out finally.

Michael smiled, his eyes flicking to Alex’s mouth for a second before looking back into Alex’s eyes. Alex did not look away.

And then Michael’s lips were on his.

Time stopped.

The world faded away.

All Alex knew anymore was Michael’s lips pressed on his, and one of his rough hands sliding ever so gently up to rest in his neck, his fingers burning against Alex’s skin. Before Alex knew what he was doing, he was kissing Michael with just as much passion, both his hands coming up to grab Michael by the collar, pulling him closer, then letting his hands drift into Michael’s curls.

Doubts and confusion were gone. Alex was sure of only one thing, and that was that he wanted Michael to _keep kissing him_. That he would do almost anything for Michael to never stop caressing his face, for Alex’s fingers to never leave Michael’s hair.

They had to come up for air though, and the broke apart with a gasp. They were breathing heavily. Michael’s pupils were dilated to a point his eyes looked almost black and he looked absolutely astonished. Alex knew the feeling. “Have you…” Alex began, but had to take several breaths before he felt steady enough to continue. “Have you ever done that before?”

Michael laughed, a little breathless. “Yeah. Yeah, but never…”

“Never with a guy?” Michael nodded and they both burst into giggles. “Yeah, me too.”

“Is this okay?” Michael asked, pressing his forehead against Alex’s, his hands still in Alex’s neck, the same way Alex’s fingers were still firmly tangled in Michael’s hair.

Alex nodded feverishly. “More than okay. Yeah. Yup. I mean. Wow.” They both laughed again, and then they were kissing again. They sank into the soft grass and they spent the rest of the afternoon tangled up, exploring each other and expanding their relationship beyond what either of them had dared to dream.

The guitar lay forgotten next to them.

_Present day, 20th October, 1935_

Alex was sitting in the dining carriage. Beth Otto had volunteered to help Isobel clean herself up before talking to Alex, and Alex was waiting for the both of them to return. He flipped through his notebook, trying to piece together what little he knew.

_Noah Bracken killed Rosa Ortecho fifteen years ago. He was accused but acquitted on accounts of no evidence. Fifteen years later, Rosa Ortecho’s murderer becomes the victim of a murder himself. Murdered on board the Orient Express, in a locked cabin, with only his wife in the cabin with him. The wife is the obvious suspect. However, the time of death roughly corresponds to the train’s stop in Vinkovci, and combined with an unexplained open window whilst the coldest autumn in years was sweeping through Europe, it was also very possible a murderer had slipped aboard the train in Vinkovci, murdered Noah Bracken and escaped through the window before the train departed again. But what is the meaning of the burned newspaper clipping? A message? A covering of tracks? Maybe a private detective on board spooked Noah Bracken? And how to explain the dozen or so vastly different wounds?_

Alex had the feeling he was missing something very vital, but he did not despair yet. He had not talked to any of the passengers. Right now, they were his suspects.

“Hey,” a soft voice startled him out of his thoughts. Alex looked up to see Michael standing by his table. His hands were in his pockets and he was looking bashful, looking at him through his curls. He looked beautiful.

Alex shook his head slightly and shot him a brave smile. “Hey.”

“Mind if I sit?” Michael said, placing his hand on the back of the chair across from Alex. Alex nodded and Michael sat down. It was strange to be so close to Michael without any discomfort between them. They looked at each other for a while, Alex feeling his shoulders relax slowly. “You okay, Alex?” Hearing his name from Michael’s lips like that, in that soft, concerned voice made Alex nearly melt. He’d always been weak for Michael, and ten years of separation had evidently not changed that.

Alex sighed. ‘Yeah,” he said, then shook his head, “it’s a weird case.”

Michael nodded, never taking his eyes off Alex’s face. Alex was suddenly very aware of his hands lying on the table next to his notebook. Michael’s elbows were on the table as well and Alex had half a mind to take his hands.

But he’d lost that right when he walked away a decade ago. It was no use dwelling on it now.

“So how’ve you been, Alex?” Michael asked finally.

Alex shrugged. “You know. Went to war. Got my knee shot to hell. Nearly died. Then went into the private investigator branch. Turns out I’m pretty good at it.”

Michael chuckled. “You always were able to spot the little details.” The fondness in Michael’s voice completely threw Alex. After the cool demeanour Michael had held towards him since they ran into each other, this was the last thing Alex expected.

“How have you been?” Alex almost feared the answer. It opened the window for Michael to really go off on him.

Michael surprised him yet again, however. “It was really bad for a while, after high school. No job, no family…but then my siblings found me.”

“The ones who got adopted and had to leave you behind in that foster home?”

Michael nodded. Alex heart clenched with joy for Michael. He and his sister and brother had been found by the side of the road as small children. Michael had been an unruly child, and when his siblings got adopted, the adoptive parents refused to take Michael home as well. It had left Michael deeply scarred, leading to his early alcohol and nicotine abuse and overall delinquent behaviour. Though he’d usually managed to stay within the lines of the law. Usually. “Yeah. Turns out they had been trying to find me for a few years, but since I ran away from that last foster home, nobody knew where I was. But they found me, a year or two ago. We’ve been growing closer ever since then. It’s been really great reconnecting with them.”

“Michael, that’s amazing,” Alex said, and before he knew what he was doing, he had grabbed Michael’s hand. Michael barely flinched, just turned his palm upwards and stroked Alex’s hand with his thumb. Alex returned the gesture in kind. Just like that, Alex was back under their tree, looking at Michael for the first time after their kiss. A full decade had not been enough to make him forget how he felt for Michael. In some ways, nothing had changed between them.

But in other ways, everything had changed.

Alex swallowed hard, closed his eyes and gathered his courage. “Michael, I’m sorry. But I have to ask. Where were you around 3am?”

Michael’s movement stilled and the atmosphere became absolutely frosty. “_Seriously_?” Michael asked, jerking his hand back. Alex’s hand remained behind on the table, feeling cold. He shivered slightly. “We’re having a _moment_ here, trying to fucking reconnect, and you want to know if I have an _alibi_? You honestly suspect _me_?”

Alex clenched his eyes shut. God, he had the worst timing in the world. “I’m really sorry, Guerin, I really am, but I have to know. The carriage was locked on all sides. You were one of only 8 people who could’ve done this. I need to know. If nothing else, I need to rule you out. I can’t let personal feelings get in the way of this.”

Michael scoffed. “Alright, _Alex_,” he said, with nothing of the softness in his voice, “A few minutes before three we arrived in Vinkovci, and I went outside. I blew the whistle for the 1-minute sign at 5 past three. At three oh six, the train continued on its way and I went back to my cabin to warm up, since it was freezing outside. I did not emerge until around 4, when Mrs DeLuca rang the bell and asked me to refill her water jug. After that, I was not outside my cabin until Mrs Bracken started screaming. Satisfied?” He jumped to his feet, and Alex rose as well, feeling absolutely miserable.

“Michael, wait.” He grabbed Michael’s arm just as the other man wanted to pace off. “I spent last evening with the DeLuca’s and Dr Kyle, and the way Kyle and Maria interacted…I don’t know. It made me think about who I was, when all this started. Before I went to war.”

Michael pulled his arm from Alex grip and looked at him in near contempt. “Yeah, well, where I stand nothing’s changed.” His voice was like a dagger straight through the heart, but the words also sparked some anger in Alex.

“Yeah. Including the way you look at me.” Michael, who had been poised to retort with something undoubtedly hurtful, shut his mouth with a snap, his eyes widening. “And that’s a problem for me, Guerin.” Alex wasn’t exactly yelling, but his usually quiet voice had gotten a sharp edge to it. All the hurt and confusion he’d been feeling over the past 24 hours was bubbling to the surface and he was unable to hold any of it back. “Because every time you look at me, I’m 17 again. And I forget that the last ten years even happened!” Michael’s entire face was transforming, from decidedly pissed off to something akin to astounded. “And then you look away! And I remember all over again, and it almost kills me! Every time!” Alex was embarrassed to hear his voice break at the end, but the words were out now. Michael was frozen, staring at him with eyes as wide as saucers.

Just as Alex was about to turn around, giving up on him completely, Michael opened his mouth, and Alex was surprised to see a single tear escape from his eye. “I never look away,” Michael said, his voice surprisingly soft. “Not really.”

Alex opened his mouth to reply, although he wasn’t sure _what_, but then the carriage door slid open and Beth entered with an arm firmly wrapped around Isobel Bracken’s shoulders. “Oh, I’m sorry, did we interrupt something?” Beth said, looking startled as she saw the two men standing not two feet apart, both looking equally devastated.

Alex was the first to snap out of it. “No, of course not. We were just finished.”

Michael threw Alex a hard to read look and then exited the carriage, but not without brushing his hand against Alex’s. The familiar shock of electricity went through him for a second, and then Michael was gone. Before turning to face the two women, he wiped hastily at his eyes.

He had to snap out of it. A murder had been committed on board this train, and whilst the victim was most likely a vicious killer himself, Alex’s sense of justice would not allow him to let this go. He was going to solve this, preferably before they arrived in Paris in two days. In short, he was on a deadline.

“Mrs. Bracken,” he said kindly as he turned around and extended his arm for her to take. She did so, shakily, and allowed him to guide her to his table. “I’m so sorry for you loss, ma’am. I cannot imagine what you are going through.”

“Thank you, detective,” Mrs Bracken said, her voice shaking badly. “I think this qualifies as the worst day of my life, truly.” Every other word, she had to bring her handkerchief to her mouth to stop a sob from escaping. Alex noted that she had been cleaned up and looked quite put together for a woman who had just gone through the worst morning any spouse can go through.

“Miss Otto, would you mind giving us some privacy?” he requested of Beth, who had been hovering over Isobel. She nodded, squeezed Isobel’s shoulder in support and left the carriage.

“Mrs Bracken, I know this is a very trying time, but if we want this murder solved before we arrive in Paris, I need to know everything you can tell me about your husband. Had he any enemies?”

Isobel hiccupped. “I mean, he ran an oil company. He made quite a lot of money. One can’t make money in oil without making some enemies. But there was nothing that pointed to someone threatening him, if that’s what…” She trailed off, her face transforming almost comically to thoughtfulness. Alex cocked an eyebrow in question. “Well, he got some weird letter before we boarded the train. As we were checking out of our hotel, the clerk gave him an envelope. He opened it, read it, and became very upset. He first tore it in half, then stuffed it in his suitcase with a promise to burn it first change he got, which he eventually did in our cabin. When I asked, he wouldn’t tell me what was in it.”

Alex wrote it all down, noting that the burned piece of newspaper could very well have been in this envelope Mr Bracken had received. “How did he appear after that? At dinner, for example?”

“He was very distant, would barely talk to me. He was engrossed in his papers, even though he had promised not to work on our holiday. But it was almost as if he was possessed, he was almost feverish. I offered him some of my sleeping medicine, but he wouldn’t take it and, _oh…_” Suddenly she teared up again. “Oh _god_,” she wailed, “the last talk we ever had was an argument. I can’t believe this is happening!”

Alex nodded, allowing her to cry for a minute. He knew from experience grieving widows were especially hard to interrogate. Pushing it would only make them more upset, but he couldn’t be too lax. They usually had some vital piece of information. “Mrs. Bracken, please, just a little while longer. You said sleeping medicine. What kind do you take?”

“Barbital,” Mrs Bracken said, and Alex raised an eyebrow. “It’s not that unusual, Mr Manes. I’ve had night terrors, and they stopped when I started taking barbital.”

“Mrs Bracken,” Alex said, working to keep his voice even. “Your husband’s bedtime tea was laced with barbital. That’s why he never fought back.”

Isobel’s eyes widened, her eyes filling up with fresh tears and she let out a heartbroken wail. “You don’t think _I_ gave him the barbital, do you? I would _never_ drug my husband, Mr Manes!” She sniffed. “I will check if a bottle is missing for you, Mr Manes. Just to give you some peace of mind.”

Alex inclined his head in thanks, wrote down the new information, and continued. “In Istanbul, did you notice anyone following you?” Isobel shook her head. “And finally, did you at any point during the night, open your window?”

She looked at him like he was crazy. “Mr Manes, it is barely 41 degrees outside. Why would I do that?” Then she started sobbing again. “He was so _cold_…”

Alex wrote it down and closed his notebook. “Thank you, Mrs. Bracken. I will need to talk to you again later, but I will let you process this a bit further first.”

Isobel rose, still sobbing, and left the carriage, leaving Alex behind, lost in thought.

_So, the murderer had sent the newspaper clipping to Mr and Mrs Bracken’s hotel. Was it a warning? Or a way to make Noah make a wrong move? Blackmail? Was the barbital from Mrs Bracken’s supply? And how did that window open? _

Still so many unanswered questions, and more than a few coincidences Alex couldn’t explain away easily.

The carriage door slid open again and a person far less welcome entered. _Compagnie_ director Jesse Manes crossed to his table in two strides and sat down without being invited. “So, Mrs. Bracken did it, yes?”

Alex frowned. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, come on. The door was locked, the only person who could’ve done it is the person in the room.”

“I’m not at all convinced. There are several things that don’t add up. The open window for one. The irregular stab wounds for another. Plus, why would Isobel Bracken want to take revenge for Rosa Ortecho?”

Jesse Manes scoffed. “Please don’t ask me to explain a woman’s logic. They’re not always the most reasonable of sorts.”

Alex rolled his eyes heavily and leant back. “Charming. A true miracle mom didn’t stick around, she really missed out on a quality husband.”

Jesse Manes gave him a contemptuous look. “Don’t blame me for your mother leaving, boy. She wasn’t right in the head.”

“Well, someone wasn’t, anyway. Pretty sure it wasn’t her, though.” Alex rose before Jesse Manes could do anything more than glower at him. “If you would be so kind as to hand me the keys to the luggage carriage. I want to check it for clues. Perhaps even the murder weapon.”

Scowling, Jesse Manes slammed his master keys on the table and rose. “It’s through the Belgrade carriage. Have fun looking through three cars worth of luggage.”

“Thanks!” Alex said, managing to sound cheerful as he grabbed the keys and left the dining carriage before his father could do anything else. As he walked, he noticed his fingers trembling slightly. He’d developed that unfortunate tell after his discharge. It only happened when his adrenaline levels spiked sufficiently enough to bring up his heartrate and fool his body into thinking he was in danger. Being around Jesse Manes apparently triggered it.

He unlocked and relocked the door between the Paris and Belgrade cars, stepped through, and made his way to the back where the luggage carriage was located.

It was one big mess. Mostly overlarge suitcases and meticulously wrapped parcels occupied the space and it wasn’t very well organized. Just looking at this gave Alex a headache. Pushing through it, he began to wade through the luggage.

About ten minutes in, he froze solid. His hand had landed on a guitar case. Slowly, he pulled it from the mess and held it up, vaguely hearing his miserable attempts at producing sound from Michael’s old guitar drift towards him from the past. He almost opened it to see the guitar and hold one in his hands again, when a voice snapped him out of his memories. “Nostalgia is a fickle mistress, yes?”

Alex almost dropped the guitar. Instead, he put it back down carefully and turned around. Michael was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame and smirking slightly. Alex took a step towards him. “You know, after I was discharged, I thought for sure I would never see you again.”

Michael pushed off from the doorframe and took a step forward as well, his hands buried in his pockets again, looking at his feet in a very transparent way to hide his nerves. “Is that what you want?” Michael could barely look him in the eye as he stopped to a halt a few feet away.

Alex blinked a few times, trying to find a suitable answer. _What did he want?_ “We’re not kids anymore. What I want doesn’t matter,” he echoed the words his drill sergeant had yelled at him more often than he cared to remember. And yet he had moved closer to Michael. They were now barely a foot apart.

Michael’s eyes snapped up to Alex’s fully now. Something unspoken went between them. Alex’s eyes flicked to Michael’s lips, and then Michael was on him.

Once again, it was like the last ten years hadn’t ever happened. Michael felt so familiar against him, the warmth of his hand in his neck, how his lips moved against his. Alex’s body reacted instinctively. His hands pulled Michael closer to him by his belt, then tried to find somewhere to hold, but he couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch. He wanted to touch _everywhere_. When he landed on his waist, he wanted to touch his face. When his hand was on Michael’s face, he wanted to run his hands through those curls.

Michael walked him backwards, and Alex’s back hit the wooden wall with a thump. Both moaned softly as Michael pressed himself against Alex as close as possible and Alex could already feel Michael’s arousal against his leg. Michael’s hands were roaming all over his body and in the end landed on Alex’s hips. His fingers dug into his flesh, drawing another gasp from Alex’s lips.

Alex heart felt full to bursting. He hadn’t been kissed like this in a decade. Sure, he’d had some kisses here and there, but where does one find a fellow queer man in America in one of the most conservative times of the country? But Michael was the only one who could make his entire being feel on fire with barely a few touches. Michael broke the kiss after what seemed like an eternity, pressing his forehead against Alex’s. Their breathing was heavy, in complete sync as they held onto each other.

Every point of Alex’s body that touched Michael’s was tingling heavily, and his lips felt swollen from Michael’s enthusiastic kisses. “That was…” Michael said, trying to recover his breath.

“A one-time thing,” Alex forced himself to say. The longer he and Michael weren’t kissing, the more he returned to his senses. Michael was a suspect in a murder investigation, Alex wasn’t supposed to be making out with him.

Michael barely looked concerned. “Mm-mm. That’s what you said after that first time.” His hand slid down Alex’s body, landing on his crotch. Alex inhaled sharply, closing his eyes at the intense sensations. “Mmm. I don’t think he quite agrees with you, Alex.”

“_God_, Guerin,” Alex growled, his hands grabbing Michael’s face and pulling him close again. The kiss was hotter now, fuelled by lust more than pain. Quick as a cat, he spun Michael around, so his back was to the wall now. Alex grabbed his hands and pinned them above their hands. Michael chuckled breathlessly. Even after all this time, Alex still knew exactly what Michael liked.

Alex rolled his hips against Michael’s and the intense friction made them both groan. “Alex,” Michael growled, sounding absolutely wrecked. Alex had to call upon the very last shred of his willpower to pull away enough to look into Michael’s eyes. “This is a very dumb idea,” Michael continued, even as his lips chased Alex’s.

“It is,” breathed Alex, as he nipped Michael’s lips, “You’re a suspect in a murder that I’m investigating.”

“This could be seen as a conflicting interest.” Michael captured Alex’s lower lip between his teeth and bit down lightly.

“It really could,” Alex agreed in a muffled voice.

Still, it took the two of them another ten minutes to recover enough of their self-control to pull apart. At this point, they were both panting heavily, and Alex was painfully hard. He couldn’t help but notice Michael was in the same predicament. “Let’s pretend this never happened, for now, shall we?” he said between heavy breaths.

Michael nodded, not looking at Alex as he tried to regain his breath. “Yeah. We don’t want your father finding us in a compromising position again, huh.”

“Please, don’t joke about that, Michael,” Alex said in a pained voice.

“Sorry.” For a few minutes they were silent, both trying to recover their strength enough to leave. “Okay, I think I’m good now. See you around, Private.” With an absolutely wicked grin, he tapped his conductor’s hat and left the luggage carriage, leaving Alex behind who was in no way shape or form ‘good’.

He would probably not be able to leave this carriage for a while yet. Sitting himself down on the nearest trunk, Alex began rifling through the other luggage at random, hoping to find any clue.

Focus was hard to find, however, and it took him a full two hours more to search the rest of the carriage. He came away with no new clues.

As he re-entered the Paris carriage, he saw Michael talking to the tall white man he’d overheard someone call ‘Max’. Michael spotted him as well, and over the tall man’s shoulder, he threw Alex an absolutely sinful look. Alex groaned inwardly.

It was going to be a very long day.


	5. Do you have to (let it linger)?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _**In this chapter:** We meet Isobel Bracken's brother a few years before the present. In the present, Jesse Manes is inadvertently helpful and Alex broadens his list of suspects._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a special thanks to Aileen (@acomebackstory), Callie (@callieramics), @hm-arn, @royalshadowhunter and @ladymajavader over on Tumblr for their continued support and cheerleading, and my new cheerleader May (@merlinss). I don't know if I would've finished it without you guys!
> 
> The title of last chapter hasn't been guessed yet, so you can still give it a go!
> 
> Can anyone guess this week's title and performing artist?

_January, 1933_

In the month that construction of the longest and tallest suspension bridge began in San Francisco, a small announcement appeared in the local New Mexican paper.

** _ Oil Mogul Noah Bracken (33) and long-time girlfriend Isobel Evans (25) announce their engagement _ **   
_Noah Bracken, the youngest man ever to reach a net worth of $1 billion, and his long-time girlfriend, major event planner Isobel Evans, have today announced their engagement to this newspaper. “We are beyond happy and ask you to respect our privacy in this wonderful time,” the couple announced from their San Franciscan estate. “It will be the greatest event I’ll ever have planned,” adds the future Mrs Bracken with a wink. The editors of this newspaper wish them all the happiness in the world._

This news was not received well by everyone. The bride’s brother, for one. A recent addition to the sheriff’s department, he had read everything about the Rosa Ortecho case. 13 years later, the case was still cold as ice. He’d recognized the young immigrant that had been the one and only suspect back in the day as the man his twin sister was dating. But before he could reach out and warn his sister, she’d gotten engaged. Any objections he voiced now would make him sound like a possessive brother.

He tried to assuage himself; aside from the fight, there was absolutely no evidence that Noah Bracken _had_ killed the Ortecho girl. And yet he couldn’t shake this feeling…

Max Evans threw the paper down on the table and put on his hat.

If his sister’s soon-to-be-husband _was_ a dangerous killer, he was going to find out. And his sister would be kept out of danger, for as long as possible.

_Present day, 21st of October, 1935_

“Bring in Max Evans, please,” Alex requested of the young conductor they brought in from one of the other carriages. Alex could really only trust people who had not been on the Paris carriage, so he’d had his father bring over some staff from the other carriages.

Every time he looked at the conductor assigned to help him out, however, he was secretly disappointed it wasn’t Michael. This man was older, shorter and the uniform was not nearly as attractive on him as it was on Michael.

After their less-than-professional meeting in the luggage carriage, Michael had disappeared, only showing his face when people needed something. Alex was afraid he regretted the way the two of them lost control, especially with Jesse Manes crawling around.

So Alex threw himself into the case with more vigour. He didn’t want to think about Michael, because he was already discounting him as a subject on the basis of nothing, and that was dangerous. Personal feelings in his line of work was dangerous and led to murderers walking free.

Max entered the dining carriage. The man was almost inhumanly tall, Alex guessed about 6 feet, and was very muscular. Alex glanced at Kyle’s summary of the stab wounds; Max could’ve easily made the deeper, more smooth incisions. Only a person of great strength would’ve been able to make those. “You wanted to see me, Detective Manes?”

“Yes, please sit down. If you have you identification papers on you, please put them on the table.” Max placed his papers in front of Alex, and the latter inspected them closely. “Maxwell Evans, 27 years old. Current resident of Roswell, New Mexico?”

“Affirmative.”

“And where are you currently employed, Mr Evans?”

“The Sheriff’s department. For about two years now.”

“A fellow detective.” Alex smiled as he handed back the papers and wrote down the general information. “Then you know I’ll have to ask some questions, regardless of your guilt or innocence in this case.”

Max bowed his head. “I understand. You may ask your questions.”

“Where were you at around 3AM?”

“Asleep in my bunk.”

“Alone?”

Max flashed a smile. “Sadly, yes.” _Not much of an alibi._

“What are you doing aboard this train, Mr Evans?”

“I was looking for some family. I lost touch with most of them after I moved to New Mexico early in my youth, and I was hoping to find some in Istanbul. Sadly, I haven’t found any.” Max gave another smile, but his eyes betrayed sadness. “Now I’m heading back Stateside.”

“Did you know Rosa Ortecho?”

Max Evans sat back, looking surprised. “Well, the murder happened in Roswell, so I heard about it when I first joined the department, but no, I did not know her personally. Why do you ask?”

Alex closed his book and sat back, studying Max Evans’ face closer. For some reason the features seemed familiar, though he couldn’t place it. He’d left Roswell years before, so he couldn’t have met him. And yet something in the back of his mind tried to draw his attention, remaining just out of reach. “There are signs this murder is connected to the Rosa Ortecho murder. It’s unclear how or why, but the evidence seems to support it.”

Max’ eyebrows shot upwards and sat back, whistling softly. “Wow. That’s intense. Well, I never knew about the murder until after I joined the force. I didn’t know Mr Bracken until I met him on this train tonight.”

For some reason, Alex felt deeply uncomfortable as Max said that. His leg started bouncing up and down and his stomach roiled. _Max Evans was lying. But why and about what?_ “Alright, Mr Evans, that’s it for now. Please return to your cabin.”

“Wait.”

Both Max and Alex turned around to see Jesse Manes, who had been skulking in a corner, sit up straight and look intensely at Max. “What?” Alex asked, just barely civil.

“Mr. Evans, how do you know Isobel Bracken?”

Alex looked at Max just in time to see a flash of fear pass over his face. “Mr. Evans?”

“I don’t – ” he began, but Jesse Manes cut him off. “Alexander, you do know Isobel Bracken’s maiden name is Evans?”

Alex did not. He looked at Max Evans accusingly. “Mr. Evans. The truth, please.”

Max put his head in his hands for a moment, then sat up straight. “Fine. Isobel is my twin sister.”

It clicked in Alex’s head immediately. The features were familiar because he looked a lot like Isobel. He chided himself on not putting it together himself. _You call yourself observational?_ “Which makes Noah Bracken your brother-in-law.” Max nodded. “Why did you lie, Mr. Evans?”

“Because my connection to Isobel and Noah would make me a suspect!” Max ejaculated roughly, running his hands through his hair. “It’s common knowledge Noah and I did not get along, and I thought making sure I wasn’t a suspect would at least give Isobel some peace of mind. Her husband was just murdered, Mr. Manes.”

“I’m aware,” Alex said coolly, writing down the statement and underlining the connection Max had to the victim. It still didn’t make him the culprit, but as Max said, it did make him a suspect. “You said it was common knowledge that you did not get along with Noah Bracken?”

“Yeah, it was pretty widely reported. I’m surprised you didn’t see. A few months after my sister got married, I got wind of him hitting her. I lost my control completely and picked a fight with him in the middle of a busy street in New York. Noah being who he is, it was front page news.” Max scoffed. “It was never proven that he _did_ hit her, and Isobel denied it, but yeah, after that, Noah and I stayed out of each other’s way as much as possible.”

_Motive_, Alex penned down in his notebook. If Noah Bracken really hit his wife, her twin brother had more motive than most to want Noah out of her life. Expect maybe Isobel herself. His father’s initial accusation may have some merit to it after all.

“Please, Isobel didn’t do this,” Max pleaded, looking earnestly into Alex eyes. “She’s been through so much and just because I was reckless and have anger issues, doesn’t mean she does too. I got the volatile genes in this family.”

Alex looked steadily back at Max. “You just gave me a motive for both you and Isobel to want Noah Bracken gone. I have to pursue it. If it turns out Isobel is innocent, that will come out soon enough.”

Max sighed, looking absolutely miserable. “I understand. I’m sorry for lying, I was just trying to protect my sister.”

Alex nodded. “Is there anything else you may have been lying about? Your alibi, perhaps?”

Max snorted. “Well, it might as well come out. I was in my cabin, but I was not alone. I was talking to Beth Otto. We met on the train and really hit it off, we were talking until around 4AM. I returned to my cabin a little after that time. I lied because she doesn’t want her dad to know.”

That meant someone was awake at the time of the murder. “Did you see or hear anything at around 3AM?” Alex said, eagerly.

Max shook his head. “I’m sorry Mr. Manes, I was thoroughly engaged with Ms. Otto. She has fascinating ideas about the future, she’s a genius. It’s a damn shame that women of her descent aren’t admitted to college yet.”

Alex nodded, but had no time to discuss the prevailing overtones of racism and sexism in America, no matter how much he wanted to. “Should you think of anything at all, don’t hesitate to look me up, Mr Evans. That is all.”

_Damn it all to hell,_ Alex thought darkly, sitting back and watching Max Evans disappear. The net was closing around Isobel and yet something didn’t seem right.

The wounds didn’t add up. And neither did the connection to the Ortecho case. Was it just coincidence? Or a way to cover up the true motive? Alex had never encountered such a complex case before in his life. The world is made up of logic, he always said, but logic was precisely the thing missing in this case. All the facts contradicted each other. Nothing added up.

“Well, he seems trustworthy enough,” Jesse Manes said flippantly. “But that Isobel…in cases of murder, the spouse is always the suspect.”

Alex sat up with a snap, his father’s snap judgements needling him more and more. “Why? Because Max is white and _male_? That doesn’t exclude him from being a suspect, _dad_! Everyone is a suspect! And now we have two people with flimsy alibis and great motives! Yet none of it adds up at all to the Rosa Ortecho murder! Nothing adds up and we have no time!”

Jesse Manes looked outraged, his face slowly turning red, always a danger-sign. “Listen, young man – ”

“Oh, don’t ‘young man’ me, father! The revelation about Max and Isobel’s relation aside, you have added nothing but insults and judgements to this case. Unless you have something real to contribute, stay the hell out of my way!”

His voice shaking with an old fear he had refused to feel all week, Alex pushed past his father, who seemed to have been struck dumb by Alex’s outburst, and exited the dining carriage. He promptly bumped into Michael, who was standing just outside, his hand outstretched as if to knock. “Oh. Michael.” A sense of calm immediately stole over Alex and he felt his shoulders relax slightly.

“Hi,” Michael said, looking slightly off-put. “Everything okay?”

“Yes, just…my father.” Michael nodded, but looked strangely distant as he did so.

“Can I help you with anything?” he said, in a tone that said there was no room for improprieties now. Alex felt a faint twinge of pain in his heart but allowed Michael to keep his distance. Things had been so wild and confusing these last few days, he could hardly blame him for coming to his senses.

“Yes. Can you tell me if you saw or heard anyone outside the cabins as you were tending to Mrs DeLuca?”

Michael looked pensive for a second, then shook his head. “No. No, it was as I said. Around 4AM, Mrs DeLuca asked for some water. I went to fetch it, returned and was back in my cabin no later than 10 past.”

Alex froze. _And yet Max just admitted to leaving Beth Otto’s cabin after 4, too_. Michael’s story was starting to show holes. Alex’s heart sank as the horrifying reality of his situation dawned on him. Michael might just turn out to be guilty before all this was said and done.

Alex never had trouble revealing the guilty party after he was certain they had committed the crime. That was his job, and he was good at it. But he had never been in the position of having to deal with a suspect that he cared as much as about as he cared about Michael.

Shockingly, a part of his brain wondered if Alex couldn’t just…let it go, should Michael prove the guilty party.

He closed his eyes briefly. It was becoming increasingly difficult to separate his feelings from the case.

It might be his undoing.

“Michael, can you fetch me Dr Kyle? I need to see him.”

Michael nodded once, and his face remaining completely neutral, turned around and left. Alex remained behind in the hallway, feeling increasingly uncertain about this entire case.

“You wished to see me?” Alex looked up to see Kyle standing in front of him, smiling politely.

“Yes, doctor, please follow me.”

They went back into the dining carriage. Jesse Manes was still there, but he got up and left the carriage without a further word as Kyle and Alex sat down. “Do you have identification on you, sir?” Alex asked, and Kyle supplied it. “Kyle Vale, 25 years old, former resident of New York, owner of a work permit for France. Occupation: doctor.”

“Yes, but born and raised Spaniard, sir. My parents left Spain after the war, despite our neutrality we felt it was best to use this opportunity to start over. We weren’t very rich, you see.”

“’Vale’?”

Dr Vale chuckled. “My parents’ little joke. We hail from the city of Valencia, you see. We had a dreadfully long Spanish last name, so they figured it was best to change it. America being what it is.”

Alex nodded, writing it all down. His leg was bouncing again. “And where were you at 3AM?”

“Asleep in my bunk,” Kyle answered easily, and Alex’s leg stilled. “I have a habit of sleeping horridly, you see, so I’d taken some sleeping medicine after we left the DeLuca’s cabin and did not wake until Mrs Bracken screamed bloody murder – I mean…” Kyle turned red. “That was insensitive. It was, of course, a bloody murder. Merely an expression.”

Alex nodded. His leg seemed indecisive; every time the nervous energy took hold, it seemed to disappear again. Alex had always had a good sense when people were lying to him. But it was difficult to tell with Kyle. “So you did not wake the entire night?” he asked.

“No,” the other man said decisively.

“What can you tell me about the Rosa Ortecho case?”

Kyle frowned deeply, thinking a moment before answering. “Wasn’t that the murder case fifteen years ago? In New Mexico? Little girl went missing then turned up dead two weeks later, yes?” Alex simply nodded. “Alex, surely you don’t think this has any connection…?”

“I do,” Alex said simply.

Kyle let out a disbelieving laugh, which died away quickly at the look on Alex’s face. “I swear, I know no more than the rest of America! Only what I read in the papers! Girl goes missing, turns up dead, case goes cold!” He sounded genuinely affronted. “You don’t think that any of _us_ – ?”

“No, I think – rather, I _know_, Noah Bracken was the kidnapper and eventual murderer of Rosa Ortecho.”

Kyle stared for a long moment, then let out another disbelieving laugh. “That’s…insane!”

“And yet, I believe it to be true. When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”

“Sherlock Holmes,” Kyle muttered, almost as an afterthought. “What a turn of events, eh?”

“Quite,” Alex said, keeping his eyes focused on Kyle’s face as it went through several emotions at once. _Fear_ and _amazement_ were the two that Alex recognized. It still did not give him any solid information, yet he wrote it down. “And have you given anymore thought to the nature of the stab wounds?”

Kyle sat back down, relaxing only slightly. His shoulders were still set, as if he was still expecting Alex to start pointing fingers randomly. “I’ve been trying to remember everything I was ever taught in med school about murders, but if you hadn’t chosen forensic science as your major, you were only taught the bare minimum, like liver temperature and vivisection. Nothing about murder, and definitely not about the psychology of stabbing a person!” Kyle ran his hand through his hair, messing it up even further. In the past day, Alex had started to notice the first sign of stress on everyone’s face. Kyle hadn’t brushed his hair since this all started, Beth had been frowning a lot and Michael…well, Michael seemed to be torn between avoiding Alex and wanting to keep an eye on him.

Nearly 24 hours, and a murderer was still amongst them, Alex not being a single step closer to finding out who it was.

“Thank you, Dr Vale, that’ll be all.”

Kyle left the carriage and Alex remained behind once more, staring at his notes._ Only Isobel and Max have motives_, Alex mused, _but those are very shaky at best. Michael’s alibi is equally shaky, unable to be verified by anyone._

Alex stared at the facts about the state the body was found in, feeling a distant part of his brain tugging at his attention once more. He was missing something, something huge, but right now, he couldn’t put a finger to it. He snapped his book shut with a frustrated sigh and left the dining carriage. He needed a change of scenery, and he knew just where to get it.


	6. I can’t breathe (until you’re resting here with me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _**In this chapter:** We get a peak at the night of the murder. In the present day, things kick into high gear and Alex faces a few of his own demons._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my absolute favourite chapters. I reread this so often after finishing it just because I love it so much. I hope you'll like it as much as me!
> 
> As always, a special thanks to Aileen (@acomebackstory), Callie (@callieramics), @hm-arn, @royalshadowhunter, @ladymajavader and May (@merlinss) over on Tumblr for their continued support and cheerleading. I don't know if I would've finished it without you guys!
> 
> The title of last chapter was Linger by The Cranberries, guessed by hmd23! Congratulations!
> 
> Can anyone guess this week's title and performing artist?

_20th of October, 1935, somewhere between 3am and 5am._

Alex eyes snapped open. His heart was beating faster than it should, and for a moment he didn’t understand why he’d woken up feeling startled. Then it came back to him.

_He’d been sure he’d heard someone yell out_. The sensation had permeated straight through his uneasy dreams and had startled him awake. He scrambled for his pocket watch._ 4:31am. Why in the world would anyone yell out in the middle of the night?_

Half-groggy, but on high alert, Alex stumbled out of bed, his bad leg protesting heavily to the sudden weight put on it. Limping heavily, he made his way to the door, opened it a crack and peaked out. The corridor was dark and empty, the long-since extinguished lamps swaying lightly with the train’s movements. The certainty that he’d heard someone in distress fading with every passing second, Alex looked up and down the carriage. He looked down the long end, just in time to see a small figure slip into cabin number 4.

Perhaps that was all he heard; someone visiting the bathroom.

Deciding that his traumatized brain made a case from something that wasn’t anything, Alex closed the door, crawled back in bed and soon went back to sleep.

_Present day, 21st of October, 1935_

“Alex! Come in!” Maria DeLuca had opened the cabin door at his knock and her worried frown quickly changed to a lovely smile as she realized who was at the door. “My mother is resting; it’s been a very tiring day.”

Alex stepped inside the cabin, and indeed saw Mrs DeLuca asleep in her bed. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Ms DeLuca,” Alex said in a soft voice, as he took a seat next to the window. Maria took the seat next to him. “But I have some questions that I need answered.”

“Of course,” Maria said with a kind smile, “ask away.”

“Do you and your mother have identification on you?”

“Naturally.” Maria rummaged underneath her mother’s bed for a while, and produced two sets of identification papers, which he handed to Alex.

Alex copied all of it down in his notebook. “Maria DeLuca, 22 years of age, resident of New Orleans. Occupation…singer?”

“Quite famous, too! I’ve even got a record deal coming up! People line up for blocks to hear me sing every Mardi Gras.”

Alex nodded, slightly impressed. He resolved to look up some of her music upon returning to America. “Your mother’s name…Margaret DeLuca, resident of New Orleans, retired.” Maria nodded as she took the papers from him.

“I’ve seen her looking varying degrees of ill. Is there something wrong with her?”

Maria’s smile vanished abruptly. “We…we don’t know. She’s starting to lose bits of memories. Some days she’s as sharp as she used to be, then the next she’s convinced Rosa Ortecho is standing next to her, having entire conversations with her.”

“Your mother knew Rosa Ortecho?”

Maria nodded, tears filling her eyes. “The poor girl. My mom was the Ortecho’s house maid until a few weeks before the kidnap. My dad had gotten very sick and we had to move closer to a hospital that could help him, you see. When my mother read of the case, weeks after her body had already been discovered, something broke in her. She was still my loving mom, and she took good care of me even after my father died, but there was always a kind of sadness surrounding her.”

_Motive_, Alex wrote down, but in his mind, he doubted it. Mimi DeLuca was barely strong enough to lift a hand of cards, let alone plunge a knife into a man’s chest. Still, it was pertinent information. “How is it that you came to be on this exact train, the same train that the murderer was on?”

Maria looked desperately upset. “I don’t know! I’ve been trying to figure it out myself. The only logical answer is some cruel twist of fate!”

“And you don’t think you or your mother…?”

Maria’s dark eyes suddenly flashed angrily, and Alex saw, for the first time, that he was better off not underestimating this woman. “Are you suggesting I or my mother had anything to do with this horrid business? Because my mother is sick enough as it is, and planning a _murder_ is certainly not on the top of our priority list!”

“Of course. I’m sorry I asked.” Maria kept her eyes narrowed at him for a while, and Alex felt another possibility for friendship slip away from him. But he wasn’t here to make friends, he reminded himself. He had to solve a murder. Whatever it took. “Where were you around 3AM, miss DeLuca?”

“Asleep. My mother woke at around 4 to request a glass of water from the conductor. I woke up briefly because of the scuffle, then fell asleep again. We did not hear about the murder until we arrived at the scene after everyone was already awake. I did not commit this murder, Mr Manes,” Maria said fiercely, “and neither did my mother. Frankly, I’m insulted you find us capable.”

Alex rose to his feet, having gathered all he needed right now and cast Maria a sad look. “Ma’am, in my line of business, I’ve learned that everyone is capable with enough motivation.”

With that, he left.

En route back to his own cabin, with every intention of having a lie down for a while, to really mull this case over, he ran straight into Michael. “Hey, you okay?” Michael asked once more, looking concerned this time.

_I swear_, Alex thought privately, _this man is going to give me a whiplash_. “This case is giving me a headache,” he said, instead.

“Can I help?”

“That’s very kind of you, Michael, but I – ” He was cut off by a sudden loud squealing sound, a violent lurch as the train suddenly braked hard and another crash as it came to a sudden stop. Alex, already very unsteady on his feet, fell right into Michael when the train started to brake, and the force of the crash caused them both to tumble to the floor. The noise was deafening, and instinctively, Alex buried his face in Michael’s chest and covered his ears. It was excruciating to listen to the screaming of the breaks, the thudding of luggage falling over all up and down the train and then the frightened yells and screams of the passengers.

And suddenly he was on the battlefield again. The air smelled of gunpowder, blood and death and everywhere around him, his brothers were dying. Alex was barely 20 years old and not in any way, shape or form prepared for the violence that was an actual war. Clinging tightly to his weapon, he waited till he heard the enemy’s fire subside, then emerged out of the trench and fired at his faceless foe. The more people died around him, the more he realized how futile it was. How many men had laid down their lives for the simple fact that the US government wanted control over Nicaraguan waters? But it was too late to turn back now. If he stopped shooting, he would die. And he did not want to die. He came up from the trench once more but had miscalculated. The next thing he knew, he was on the ground, his knee in tatters and every nerve aflame. Michael’s face floated in front of him as he screamed in agony. _“Alex_,” he said softly. Alex smiled and reached out. _“Alex. Alex!”_

“Alex!” he heard Michael yell, and he felt two warm hands grab his face and pull him up. Alex gasped for breath as if he had been drowning and the reality of today came back to him in an instant. He wasn’t at war. He was on the Orient Express, which had apparently just crashed, and he was in Michael’s arms once more. Though nothing romantic was about to happen, for Michael was looking at him in alarm, scanning his face for injuries. Alex automatically did the same. Other than being severely startled, having had a pretty serious flashback, and having developed an even worse twinge in his leg, Alex didn’t think he was injured. Michael looked shaken, but otherwise unhurt as well. “You okay, love?” Michael asked softly, running his thumbs down Alex’s cheeks. Alex nodded.

“What the hell was that?” he said, his voice extremely shaky.

“I think we crashed. Come on, let’s get you up.” Michael helped Alex to his feet slowly, and when Alex put weight on his leg, it hurt less than he had expected. Thank goodness.

People were coming out of their cabins, looking ruffled and wide-eyed and some of them spotting some minor bruises or a split lip. Everyone seemed unharmed otherwise.

Michael looked at Alex again. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” Alex murmured, who still felt pretty shaken up, “I just…had a flashback.”

Michael’s eyes flashed with understanding, and without hesitation, he dropped the tiniest of kisses on Alex forehead. Just a brush of the lips, but Alex felt it and a warmth surged through him. “After this is over, we’re going to have to catch up,” Michael said with a half-smile. Alex nodded in agreement, not voicing his very real fear of having to put Michael in jail.

Jesse Manes came bursting in through the door, looking quite the worse for wear, his mouth bleeding profusely. It looked as if he had slammed his face into something as the train crashed. “Is everyone alright?” he asked to the crowd in general, and, not waiting for an answer, he continued, “I need Dr Vale!”

Kyle came hurrying forward with his med kit, looking harassed. Behind him, Ms Beth’s arm was in a bandage. Raising an eyebrow at Director Manes’ less than impressive visage, he opened his case and rummaged in it. “Hurry up, won’t you?” Director Manes snapped, obviously forgetting he was not in the army anymore.

“Dad!” Alex said loudly, as Kyle stopped what he was doing and looked up slowly.

“Excuse me?” Kyle said softly.

Jesse Manes stilled, only now realizing his mistake. “Oh, I am so terribly – ”

“Mr Manes, you might be the _Compagnie _director, but these people are your passengers, who have paid for your services and your hospitality. Now I understand this day has been stressful, but I will not permit anyone to speak to me in that tone. If I hear you speak to me or any of the people on this train in that way again, I can guarantee you will never find work this side of the pond again. Do I make myself clear?”

Alex’s mouth dropped open, and he felt Michael’s shoulders shaking with barely controlled laughter even as he was still supporting Alex. There was a very tense silence, in which Alex watched his father go through several emotions including ‘murderous’ before landing on forced remorse. “Of course, Dr Vale. I forgot myself, my apologies. It’s been stressful, as you said. If you would be so kind, would you mind helping me stem the bleeding?” He was still bleeding rather profusely, and with the public dressing down he’d just received, he made a very pathetic sight indeed.

“That was the best thing I have ever seen in my entire life,” said Alex in a low voice and Michael snorted.

“Karma is a bitch,” Michael muttered, causing Alex to cough out a laugh. He looked at Michael, those piercing brown eyes filled with mirth, and felt his heart skip a beat. The man was still holding him upright, even though Alex was sure his leg was able to support his weight.

Just like 10 years ago, Michael was there to catch him if he fell. It had taken them a shockingly small amount of time to fall back in sync with each other. Alex opened his mouth, unsure what he was going to say but wanting to talk, to touch, to really reconnect with Michael…but suddenly the outer door burst open and Beth screamed. Cold air blasted into the train, snowflakes bursting in from the cold and a large shadow exited the train into the snowy wild.

Without thinking, Alex took off.

“Alex, no!” he heard Michael yell from behind him, but Alex scarcely heard him. He was only vaguely aware of his leg protesting to this sudden sprint so soon after having taken the brunt of a very violent fall, but Alex had only one thought. _Someone was running. The murderer was trying to escape._

It was freezing cold outside. Alex spared a glance to the front of the train, and his heart sank. They’d been about to pass through the Simplon Pass, but an avalanche had blocked the entrance; the Orient Express had rammed straight into the thickly packed snow.

They were stuck.

Alex’s gaze snapped around to the back of the train, where the escapee was still running. They were clothed in a big coat, making it hard to make out who this was. Alex tore after them, just as Michael jumped out to keep everyone else in. “Alex, be careful!” he yelled.

Alex called upon all the speed he’d built up in the army and sped up. No matter why this person was running, Alex couldn’t let them get away. “Stop!” he yelled, but it was useless. The wind was whistling around them both, and he only barely heard himself.

His knee protesting violently, Alex gave it everything he had and saw the distance between him and the escapee closing. The snowy landscape was hard to traverse, and they could barely see five feet in front of them, but Alex noticed the distinct change in landscape a few feet to the right; a ravine. And the other person was drawing very close to edge, Alex could already see snow beginning to crumble underneath their feet. “Careful!” he yelled. The other heard him, looked around, and lost their footing. “NO!” Without hesitation, Alex leaped for the person and pushed him away from the edge. The man – for Alex’d seen the glimpse of a beard – fell backwards, safely away from the edge, but Alex was less lucky. The snow was slipping underneath him, carrying him ever so slowly towards the edge. _Oh, for the love of…_ He felt one foot already passing over the edge, and panic leapt into his throat. _I don’t want to die_, Alex thought frantically, as Michael’s face flashed before him, and he tried to scramble back up the slight slope.

“Mr Manes!” he heard, and the man jumped forward, trying to catch his hand. Their fingers touched, slipped and Alex began to slide in earnest.

“NO!” Alex was surprised that the yell hadn’t come from his own throat, but behind the man appeared Michael, like a god damn angel send from heaven. “_Alex!_” Michael lunged and grabbed Alex’s hand, just as Alex tipped over the edge. They both yelled in fear, but Alex felt a yank on his arm. Michael had gotten hold of him and had stayed his death a little longer. Not that it helped. Alex felt himself slowly falling again, and he saw the snow underneath Michael shifting again. Michael was slipping as well.

_I’m gonna die_, Alex realized. And he was taking Michael with him.

“Let go, Michael!” he yelled in a panic.

“_No!_” Michael looked panicked himself, but his grip remained firm as he tried to find footing. “And don’t you _dare _let go, Alexander Manes!” Then he directed himself to the guy behind him. “Grab my god damn legs!” he bellowed.

Alex couldn’t see what was happening. He stared up in Michael’s eyes, sure that if he was going to die, those were the last thing he ever wanted to see. “Michael,” he said softly, as he felt no change in his slow descent, “Michael, please.”

“_NO!_” Michael yelled, his voice cracking. “I’m _not_ letting you go again, Alex! I don’t look away!”

“Michael, _please!_” Alex said, tears threatening in the corner of his eyes. “Please, don’t do this!”

Michael’s eyes were blazing with fury. “If you go, I’m going with you!”

“Oh, stop being so dramatic, you two!” a third voice added, and Isobel Bracken-Evans’s face appeared over the edge. “We got you, we’re pulling you up!”

And miraculously, even as Alex hardly dared to believe it, they suddenly began to rise, Michael disappearing back over the edge, but never letting go of Alex’s hand. Alex’s free hand grabbed the edge when he could reach it and two pairs of hands appeared to grab hold of his arm.

Isobel and Kyle were there, pulling him up, while Mr Otto was pulling on Michael’s legs.

His heart pounding, Alex was pulled back on solid ground, away from the edge. When finally, _finally_, they were safely away, he collapsed, gasping with adrenaline, against Michael, who caught him and wrapped his arms tightly around him. “Don’t _ever_ do that to me again,” Michael muttered against Alex’s temple.

Alex could only clutch to Michael’s jacket tightly, pressing his face in his chest as he tried to stave of the beginnings of a panic attack. All the horrible things that could’ve happened were flashing before his eyes. His own bloody, mangled body two hundred feet below on the snowy plains. Michael’s broken, lifeless body next to him.

“Michael, are you okay?” Alex barely registered Isobel’s soft voice as he inhaled Michael’s scent in an attempt to calm himself.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Other footsteps. Several shocked voices as they took in the scene before them. Alex aware that he and Michael were being far too affectionate around a far too unfamiliar crowd. But he didn’t have the strength to push away and stand up. He’d been at death’s doorstep. And he would’ve never gotten a chance to tell Michael all he wanted to – to make up, to _apologize_. Ten years, wasted, because they’d been so scared and cowardly.

“Michael.”

“I got you, private,” Michael whispers softly, his hands stroking Alex’s back. “You’re safe, you’re alive, I got you.”

“You really wouldn’t have let me go?” Alex finally gasped out, looking up at him. The world was slowly coming back into focus, and Michael was at its centre.

Michael smiled and the last bit of panic faded from Alex’s system. “I never look away, Alex. I told you before. I just found you again. I’ll never let you go again. And if that means following you over the edge of a damn cliff, so be it.”

“Jesus, Michael.”

“What the hell happened?!” Another voice joined the murmurs and Alex and Michael both looked up, the spell between them broken. The world was freezing again and he was _alive_ and there was still a murderer in their midst and his father just appeared, looking disgustedly down at Alex and Michael. Alex could only imagine that he looked like his father’s worst nightmare; broken, teary-eyed, in the arms of another man. If only Alex could bring himself to give a fuck.

“Alex almost went over the edge,” Isobel said, stepping in front of Michael and Alex with her hands on her hips. “Michael saved him. They’re catching their breath.”

Jesse Manes blinked in surprise. “Did they at least catch the person who ran?”

The silence became rather frosty, a very impressive feat seeing as it was _snowing_. “Yes,” another voice said, “they did.” Everyone turned around. Arthur Otto stood next to his daughter, who was holding his arm and looking extremely stern. “Why did you run, _papi_?”

Jesse Manes didn’t wait for an answer. “Only a guilty man runs! I always knew to never trust _your kind_ and I was right! I’m going to make sure you never see the sun again, you murderous _spic_!”

Alex was on his feet at once. The exhaustion, the pain in his knee, all but forgotten. “Shut up!” he yelled. Jesse became very still, a stance Alex still recognized as a first sign of trouble. “You are not in charge of this investigation, _Mr Manes_! _I _am, and you will not threaten anyone on this train while I am in charge, or you will be _very_ sorry indeed!”

“How _dare_ you speak to me in that tone?!” screamed Jesse Manes, getting into Alex’s face, any sense of where he was and who was surrounding him forgotten. Alex didn’t back down. “I am still your _father_, you ungrateful, arrogant piece of shit, and I will have _respect_!”

“Respect is earned, and you have done _nothing_ in my entire life to earn it!” Alex yelled back.

“You have never done anything to warrant giving you respect!”

Dr Kyle stepped forward, looking extremely angry. “Your son is a decorated war hero!”

Jesse Manes didn’t even seem to hear him, he just raged on, with the air of a man who was finally letting out what he’d been holding back for years. “You didn’t even have the decency to be normal, you had to be a fucking faggot to boot! You are disappointing, disgusting, despicable – ”

It happened in a flash. Alex was pulling back his fist to plant it firmly in the face of the man who called himself his father, but Michael had beat him to the punch – literally. Alex hadn’t realized how strong Michael had become in the ten years since he last saw them, but Jesse Manes went down with a single blow. Alex was convinced he saw a tooth flying. “You can no longer speak to Alex that way, not as long as I have anything to say about it!”

Jesse Manes looked shocked at this turn of events. He was cradling his jaw and Alex was looking forward to seeing a bruise form there in the next few days. He looked up at Michael, his eyes flashing with the same hate he always reserved for Alex. “My, my, you’ve finally learned to throw a punch. Lucky for you I didn’t get your good hand last time, huh?” His eyes flicked down to Michael’s left hand and Alex saw it spasm violently.

“You’re a fucking child,” Michael spat, his voice dripping with disgust and hatred. “You think respect and control come from violence. Yet these people, the people Alex is _investigating for murder_, respect him more than they do you. You are nothing. You have always been nothing. The only difference was that you were stronger than either one of us. That has changed. Touch either one of us again, and you will be very sorry indeed.” He stepped forward, his fist raised, and Jesse Manes flinched violently.

“Michael!” Max Evans stepped forward, looking stricken. “Enough, man. He’s got the point, I think.”

To Alex’s surprise, Michael dropped his fist, his fingers unclenching, a sharp breath exploding from him. Then he turned to Alex. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Alex said, then immediately felt his knee give out. “On second thought, not so much.” He buckled and Michael caught him effortlessly. “Alright, now that that’s dealt with,” Alex said, casting a disdainful look at his father, still bleeding on the ground. “Mr Otto, I would like an explanation, if you please.”

Mr Otto looked extremely white from all the excitements, and his daughter nudged him hard in the ribs to get his attention. “Oh! Ah. Yes. Of course.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Well, when the train crashed, I knew it was my only chance to get away…”

“Aha! See, escaping the scene of the crime…!” Jesse Manes began.

“I swear to _God_, one more word out of you…” Michael snapped, who did not finish his sentence, but Director Manes got the point. He lapsed into grudging silence.

“Yes, to get away. But not to flee the scene of this crime.” He looked at Alex intently. “I did not murder that man, Mr Manes. But I overheard your father talking to one of the other staff one day…said he could only suspect me, as I am the only person who could’ve done it; the DeLuca women and Beth being too weak, and Dr Kyle having taken an oath. I ran because I knew if it was up to Jesse Manes, I would be convicted on the word of a racist white man. And I’d rather live out here in the middle of nowhere than go to prison as a Latino man.”

Alex sent his father an absolutely hateful look, but his father seemed unremorseful in his racism. Alex could murder him. “Alright, everybody inside, to the dining carriage. It’s getting too cold out here. Dr Kyle, if you would escort Mr Otto.”

Everyone started towards the train, leaving Manes in the snow. Michael supported Alex all the way, and Alex was glad off it. His leg was aching worse than ever, and he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to put his weight on it for a day or so. Michael carried him singlehandedly up the stairs and into the carriage, and they laughed about it for a moment, before continuing to the dining carriage, where it was, mercifully, warmer.

Beth was standing next to her father, her arms crossed, looking extremely cross with her father. “Alex!” she said, when she saw him, waving him over. He and Michael made their way to their table. “I want to apologize for my dad. He shouldn’t have run. He panicked, thinking Jesse Manes had maybe called in the cavalry to arrest him.” Next to her, her father nodded.

Alex sighed. “Look, I get it. My father is…yeah. But I have to consider all the facts…”

“Mr Manes, I swear my father couldn’t have done it. I was with him all night – ”

“Beth – ” Max Evans tried to step in, but Beth continued, without missing a beat.

“– after I came back from Max Evans’ – ” Alex registered Max relaxing slightly, “ – I was reading some medical journals for most of the night and checked on my father periodically because he has heart issues, and my father was asleep until we were awoken by Isobel, I swear!”

Alex glanced from her to Max for a second and saw their eyes jump to each other for a fraction of a second. Something was going on between the two of them, but Alex couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Beth’s story only barely held up under the lightest scrutiny. But even if she wasn’t telling the truth about seeing her father, at least her and Max’ story seemed to match up. And that covered her for the murder. His head was aching. He pinched the bridge of his nose and lights swam behind his eyelids. That couldn’t be good.

“Alex?” he heard Michael whisper.

“Mm,” Alex merely muttered. “Alright. Well, it seems that we are stuck here for a while. Nobody leaves this train without my supervision, is that clear?” Everybody nodded mutely. “Michael, can I have your master keys?”

“What, why?” Michael asked, looking startled.

“Because I’m the only one not a suspect in this case so I need those keys somewhere I can keep an eye on them, _please_, Michael.” He didn’t mean to sound desperate, but his vision was getting blurry, his head throbbing more and more by the second. He had to lie down, and soon.

“Alright,” Michael acquiesced, looking startled and handing over the keys. Alex limped towards the outer door, locked it, and put the keys in his pocket.

“Go to your cabins, everyone. I need to rest, and we’re not going anywhere for a while.”

People moved past him, murmuring and shooting him concerned glances. Michael stayed close to Alex, looking concerned. “Michael, can I speak to you for a moment?” Alex managed to say through gritted teeth. Without waiting for an answer, he limped towards his cabin and entered it, Michael following close behind.

“What is it – ?” Michael began, but it became very clear _what_. Alex nearly collapsed and it was all Michael could do but to catch him. “_Wow_! Alright, I got you, private, I got you.”

“Can you help me?” Alex asked, his voice weak and trembling. “I don’t – I don’t think I can – u-undress mys-self.”

“Of course, Alex. I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.”

He helped Alex to his bed, set him down and started undoing the laces to his shoes. Alex slumped against the back wall, his eyes closed. Michael’s hands were gentle as he helped Alex out of his shoes, his socks, his pants and shirt. At any other time, the atmosphere between them would be charged, but Alex was near in a coma and Michael understood exactly what Alex needed. He helped him into his pyjamas. His soft touches lulled Alex into something resembling sleep and he felt warm and safe for the first time in a while.

“Alex,” he whispered, and Alex forced his eyes to open a fraction. “Lay down, love.”

With gentle pressure from Michael, Alex managed to swing his legs onto his bed and rest his head on his pillow. A very ungentlemanly groan passed his lips as his entire body began to ache into the mattress. Suddenly, Michael’s hands were on his bad leg, rubbing it softly, warming the aching muscles in his calf and knee. Alex hummed appreciatively and closed his eyes again. He slowly felt his body relaxing into Michael’s touches. His body was exhausted, the adrenaline from nearly dying finally wearing off and he was sure he was asleep. That is, until he felt Michael’s hands leave his leg and his lips against his forehead. “Sleep tight, Alex.”

Alex’s hand shot out, grabbing Michael’s arm as he made to leave. “Please don’t leave,” he muttered. His eyes opened slightly, looking up at Michael through his eyelashes. Michael’s face was soft, and a small smile played around his lips.

“Alright, Alex.” Michael shed most of his uniform, leaving him only in his boxers. Then he climbed into bed, settling himself behind Alex and slinging an arm over him. Alex’s eyes closed again, and he burrowed himself against Michael’s chest. Michael’s arm tightened around him, pressing a kiss to the back of Alex’s head. “Go to sleep, Alex. I’m here.”

Alex dropped to sleep faster than he ever had before.


	7. But you can’t love me (anymore)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _**In this chapter:** We meet Rosa's sister. In the present, Alex and Michael find each other a little bit more, but the mystery weighs heavily on Alex's mind. Then something happens that changes the game drastically._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter starts out nice but y'all know it can't last. Sorry! And OMG we're halfway!
> 
> As always, a special thanks to Aileen (@acomebackstory), Callie (@callieramics), @hm-arn, @royalshadowhunter, @ladymajavader and May (@merlinss) over on Tumblr for their continued support and cheerleading. I don't know if I would've finished it without you guys!
> 
> The title of last chapter was Here With Me by Daniel Blake. hmd23 guessed by Dido, which I will count as correct, because no one could ever have known I used a different performing artist. Congratulations! (want to know where I got my titles and which music I listened to while writing this? click [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4nmkCfohbcOWNlGW4tMOD9?si=w7QjiBwNRhaD0H-uFKRORw))
> 
> Can anyone guess this week's title and performing artist?

_June, 1929_

Rosa’s sister woke up on the day of her 18th birthday, with only one thought in her mind: _I’m going to find Rosa’s killer._

Her father had always forbidden her from looking for him, and over the years, she had stopped asking. They had moved on, literally, and started over across the country, away from painful memories. But she herself never forgot.

And now she was a grown-up. And her father couldn’t stop her.

The plans had been laid out for months. She’d been planning it with her best friend, who was not yet 18, but whose mother was more than willing to take the two girls all over the place to look for Rosa’s killer.

That’s one thing the killer never counted on; people who loved Rosa so much they would do anything, go anywhere, to avenge her, even nine years later.

But willing they were, and she had had nine years to build up hatred and pain and vengefulness in her heart. She was certain that if she ever found her sister’s killer, she would not hesitate to kill him. It should probably scare her how easy that thought came to her now. She was raised as a good catholic girl. _Thou shalt not kill_. But someone else had broken that commandment, someone had killer her sister and had gotten away with it. She couldn’t wait till he met his end and his day of judgement. She needed to know this man was no longer out in the world, killing other young girls.

She told herself she was doing it to protect other girls. It was a good reason.

It just wasn’t true.

Her father sat at the table, looking at her with sadness in his eyes. “Are you sure about this, _mija_? You can still decide…”

“No. I can’t,” she said as she opened the present her father had gotten her. As the wrapping paper fell away, a compass, a swiss army blade and a length of rope fell in her lap.

“So that you can always find your way home, so you can get yourself out of tight spots,” her father explained, pointing at the compass and the swiss knife. “And,” he said, his eyes darkening and his fingers touching the rope briefly, “this is for him. When you find him. Tell him Rosa said hello.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’ll be back, _papi_. And I won’t be alone. We’ll be safe, I promise.”

Her father looked at her, his eyes misty. “You grew up too fast, _mija_. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from this world.”

They wrapped their arms around each other and held tight, until the carriage arrived and took her away.

Liz Ortecho looked back at the house she and her father had called him for nine years. Arturo Ortecho was on the porch, waving at them as they drove off. She didn’t know when she would be back, _if_ she would ever be back.

But one thing she did know.

She would not return until Rosa’s killer was gone from this world.

_I’m sorry, Rosa_.

_Present day, 22nd of October, 1935_

Alex woke up to soft pressure to his shoulder. He felt warmer, safer and better rested than he had in a long while. His body still ached from the trauma it had gone through yesterday, but his mind was back to normal. Everything was back into focus, sharp.

And Michael was still there, pressing soft kisses to his shoulder. “Good morning,” he murmured softly.

Alex hummed contentedly. “You stayed.”

“Well, you know. It was late and cold, and your bed is way more comfortable than mine.”

Alex rolled on his other side, looking at Michael’s criminally beautiful face. His dark eyes were sparkling as he ran a hand through Alex’s hair. Alex ran his hand up Michael’s chest, feeling the muscles contract beneath his fingers. “That’s why you stayed?” he whispered, leaning close, their lips only a hair’s breadth apart.

Michael chuckled softly. “Well, there may have been another reason.”

“Mmm,” Alex said, closing the distance between them. The kiss was soft, warm and gentle. Alex’s stomach fluttered as if this was their first kiss all over again. Michael ran a hand from Alex’s back down to his leg, hooking it underneath his knee and pulling Alex’s leg over his hips. Their bodies were pressed flush together now, and Alex was in heaven. His hands ran up Michael’s neck into his hair and his fingers anchored themselves into those curls. “Michael,” he whimpered softly, as Michael pressed his hips forward and Alex became very _aware _of him.

“I know,” Michael responded, a whine in his voice. “But, God, I missed you. I missed this.” His lips nipped at Alex’s between every word, and Alex’s heart positively ached to stay here with Michael forever. To pretend this whole situation wasn’t fucked up beyond belief, to pretend they were still underneath that tree and nothing of the pain and anger had yet tainted their souls.

“Me too, Michael. So much.” Alex rolled Michael onto his back and settled himself on top of him, taking his hands and pinning them above his head and leaning into another kiss. Michael groaned, their fingers entwining as the kiss deepened. “God, I hate this case,” Alex muttered.

“Me, too,” Michael said, but they didn’t break apart. They were drawn together constantly, an invisible force pulling them towards each other, a force that had grown in strength rather than weakened over the past ten years, and it was becoming exhausting to resist it. It was the force that had pulled them together underneath that tree so many years ago. It was the force that pulled them back together on this train. It felt almost…_cosmic_. Fated.

It hurt his head to think about the cosmos wanting them together, so instead Alex focussed on Michael’s lips and body, exploring every inch. Michael had acquired a few new scars over the years and Alex brushed his lips against every single one. He hated that he hadn’t been there for him, hadn’t helped him work through all the pain.

He regretted more than ever running off to the military after…well, after.

“God, Alex, if you don’t do something_ right now_,” Michael growled, as Alex let his fingers tease at Michael’s underwear.

“What do you want, Michael?” Alex whispered in his ear. He felt Michael shudder beneath him.

“You know what I want,” Michael said through gritted teeth, bucking his hips. Alex pulled his hands away from Michael entirely, eliciting a very sexy, desperate groan from him.

“Then say it, Michael. Use your words for me.”

“I hate you.”

“Sure you do.”

Michael kept his jaw clenched for a few moments, then let out a piteous whine and closed his eyes. “_Please_, Alex. _Touch_ me, _please_.”

With a smile, Alex bent his face close to Michael’s, barely brushing their lips together. “Good boy,” he whispered, and Michael moaned. Grinning ferally, Alex slipped his hand inside Michael’s boxers and wrapped his hand around him. Michael let out a drawn-out whine that was absolutely sinful and Alex knew his restraint was wearing very thin.

It was almost like muscle memory. Every flick of the wrist, every tap of his fingers…Alex remembered exactly what the surest way was to get Michael to the edge. Michael’s speech, normally so intelligent and eloquent, was blurred beyond recognition. Alex vaguely heard his own name, but otherwise it was just noises.

Alex pressed his forehead to Michael’s, their heavy breaths mingling between them as Michael’s hand searched for purchase and in the end just held onto Alex as tight as he could. “Let go, Michael,” Alex whispered, and immediately Michael complied. His entire body seized up and Alex was just in time pressing his lips to Michael’s to swallow the scream that ripped from his throat.

“_Alex_…” Michael gasped out. “Jesus _Christ_, you’re still amazing at that.” He kissed Alex hungrily, and Alex was suddenly _very _aware of his own raging hard-on.

“Well, it’s not like I’ve been celibate the last decade,” Alex said, pressing his hips against Michael to try and find some relief.

Michael’s grin turned positively sinful as his eyes travelled down Alex’s body. “Well, neither have I.” And without so much as a warning, he flipped Alex on his back and began to press kisses to his chest, slowly working his way down to where Alex’s happy trail disappeared into his briefs.

“Michael, you don’t have to…” Alex began, but then Michael’s mouth was already on him and his words became a long drawn out moan. Michael’s mouth _did_ things to him and good _God_, the man had gotten very talented indeed. Alex twined his fingers in Michael’s curls and held on tight, the only purchase he could find in this tiny cabin.

Embarrassingly quickly, Alex was at the precipice. “Michael, I…” he choked out, but Michael just went to work eagerly, and Alex exploded so suddenly and so violently he swore he blacked out for a minute. Michael stroked his hair as Alex came back down to earth. “_Jesus_,” Alex muttered.

Michael laughed, pressing a kiss to his head. “Thanks.”

“You’ve learned some new moves.”

Michael snorted. “Yeah, well, 17-year-old me was not exactly _knowledgeable_ in the sex department.”

Alex pressed a lazy kiss to Michael’s lips. “I don’t know. I remember it being very enjoyable.”

“We were both ignorant little shits.”

Alex snorted. “Probably.” He rested his head on Michael’s chest and they lay together in perfect silence, listening to each other breathe and wondering if they ever had to get up at all.

But it was becoming light, and footsteps were heard on the hallway.

They had to come back to earth, to a reality where a murder had been committed and Michael was still one of the suspects.

\----

Alex was trying to focus.

It was hard, when outside, crews of work men were yelling at each other as they worked to move the snow out of the way of the train.

He was sitting on a dining car table, his back against the window, his knees drawn up to his chest and his notebook open on them. He had been going over the details for hours now, and at this point, every page was branded in his brain.

Yet he was missing something.

Something was right in front of him, something quite obvious, and he was missing it. He was sure of it.

Groaning with frustration, he slammed the book on the table next to him.

They were stuck in a snowy land of nothing, on a train with only so many places to be alone, and a murder had been committed in a locked room. This should not be so hard as it so clearly was.

Whoever had done it was exceedingly clever.

He stared at his knees as he walked through the case in his thoughts. _Rosa Ortecho’s murderer. Murdered in his own bed. Stabbed 16 times. None of the stab wounds make sense. The door was locked. His wife was in there with him but claims to have been under the influence of barbital. The window was closed when they went to bed. The train stopped in Vinkovci around 3. Body temperature suggests that’s when the murder happened as well…_

His mind snagged on something, an important detail that he was overlooking, that was preventing him from moving through the rest of the facts of the case. _The window was open…_

Before he could finish his thought, a scream echoed through the train, so filled with pain and fear Alex was on his feet at once. The thought, possibly the most important thought he would’ve had, vanished beneath his military training.

As fast as his leg would allow – it was still stiff from yesterday’s adventures and this morning…other adventures – he made his way to the cabins, where people were already congregating around Beth Otto’s cabin. She was sobbing violently, her voice pained as she yelled for help. Alex pushed Mimi and Max Evans to the side and clapped eyes on the sobbing girl.

There was a knife sticking from her back.

“Jesus _Christ_,” a voice behind him exclaimed and he was nearly bowled over by Kyle Vale as the man rushed to get at the injured woman. “Miss Otto!”

“What the hell happened?” Alex asked, moving forwards into the cabin.

“I don’t know!” Beth wailed. “I didn’t see! I was cleaning my cabin and then suddenly I felt this stabbing pain! It was all I could do not to crash headfirst to the floor! When I turned around, they were gone! Please, get it out, _get it out!_” she screamed at Kyle, who immediately grabbed his surgical gloves and went to work.

While he worked, Alex examined the knife sticking out of her left shoulder. It looked familiar. He crouched down next to Kyle. “Put on some gloves, will you?” Kyle said impatiently. Alex did as asked. He watched closely as Kyle extracted the knife. Beth sobbed louder as it slid out, and as soon as it was completely clear, her shoulder began to bleed heavily. Kyle dropped the knife in Alex’s hands and set to work on keeping Beth alive. Alex sat back, examining the knife at a closer distance.

He knew this knife.

He hadn’t seen it in ten years.

“This is mine,” he muttered, and a deadly quiet fell over the train, as every head turned to him.

“_Excuse_ me?” Beth asked

“This is my knife.”

“Mr Manes!” Mimi DeLuca exclaimed. “Are you saying _you_ stabbed that poor girl?!”

Alex realizes his mistake, too late, it seems. Telling a train full of paranoid people that he was holding the knife that had stabbed a passenger, possibly even killed Mr Bracken, and that that knife was _his_, was maybe not the best move.

But this knife hadn’t been in his possession for over ten years. “I thought I lost it. It was the first thing I bought just for me.” Everyone was staring at him. “When I was packing for the army, I wanted to take it with me, but…it was missing, couldn’t find it anywhere. I thought my father may have found it and taken it, but now…I’m not so sure.” He raised his head to the group at the door, his eyes immediately finding Michael’s. “Michael?”

Michael’s eyes widened. “You don’t think that _I_…?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore! Every piece of evidence points to another person! And I had this knife on me last when I – when we – well! How else would it have gotten here?”

“How the hell should I know, Alex?” Michael spat, looking absolutely pissed.

“Did you take my knife, Guerin?”

Michael just threw him a very filthy look and stalked off to the other end of the train.

The silence stretched. Alex was still holding the dripping knife. He didn’t know what to do.

“Can I see that knife, Mr Manes?” Kyle asked, pulling him out of his reverie. Alex handed it over mutely, watching as Kyle studied it as well. “That’s what I thought. This is it, Alex,” he said, handing it back over carefully, “this is the weapon that killed Noah Bracken.”

Alex felt like the knife was burning in his grip.

A faint muttering went through the crowd. In the back, Alex saw his father narrowing his eyes at him suspiciously. He could feel the mood shifting, the looks he received full of accusation instead of admiration. He never thought he’d miss those.

He was looking at the knife in shock, still not fully able to grasp the full meaning of its presence. There was only one way it could’ve gotten on this train, and Alex hated every single moment he stood there, holding the knife like an idiot.

“Alex,” Kyle said softly, wrapping his own hands around Alex’s trembling fist. “Alex, let go of the knife now.”

He sounded scared. Alex looked up and glimpsed his own reflection in the side mirror; he was looking absolutely murderous. With that realization came the emotions; fear, anger, sadness and above all, a fiery rage.

It wasn’t _fair_. It wasn’t fair that fate had brought the two of them together only for Alex to have to arrest Michael. It wasn’t fair, it’s wasn’t fair, it wasn’t _fair_ –

“I’m so sorry, Alex.”

Alex barely spared a look at Kyle. He dropped the knife, which clattered on the floor, and positively fled the cabin, leaving Kyle and Miss Otto to deal with the aftermath.

“Michael!” he bellowed, running in the direction that Michael had taken off in. Just as he reached the door to the dining carriage, the train lurched into motion, spilling him through the doorway and sending him sprawling to the floor. Cheers went up in both carriages; the snow was dealt with, and they were moving again. Michael scrambled to his feet, barely registering the pain in his knee as he looked around. Michael was standing by the window, his hands on the windowsill, his back rigid. Alex knew Michael’s body language better than anyone else’s. Someone might mistake him for angry, but Alex saw what was underneath. Michael felt cornered, trapped, and that made him possibly even more dangerous. “Michael.”

Michael’s shoulders tensed even more. “What do you want, Alex?”

“Please tell me it wasn’t you. Give me any other reasonable explanation, I beg you.” Alex didn’t like the desperation that dripped from every word, but he couldn’t take them back. Michael shook his head, his fingers digging into the wood. Alex swallowed, his heart growing cold. “It was you, wasn’t it?” His heart was racing, his blood thundering in his ears, he barely heard Michael’s soft, clipped reply.

“I took your knife, the day you told me you were leaving. I was in pain. And I wanted something to remember you. The knife was right there on the table at the Foster’s ranch. So I took it. I’ve been carrying it with me ever since.” Every word was a stab in the heart for Alex. _Michael took the knife. Michael killed Noah Bracken_.

“Michael – ” Alex said, his voice constricted.

Michael cut across him, whirling around and glowering at Alex so menacingly that he took a step back. “But I lost that knife the first night. I was coming back from cleaning up dinner, opened my trunk to look at it…and it was gone.”

The tightness in Alex’s chest eased slightly, allowing him to draw a shaky breath. He didn’t dare be relieved. “Michael, I’m – ”

“I get that this case is complex. And I’m sorry for the impossible position I’ve put you in by holding on to this thing between us…but you were _so ready_ to think I did it. Why?”

“The evidence – ”

“_Bullshit_!” Michael yelled and Alex winced, his heart breaking. “Any and all evidence in this case is circumstantial at best! We both know it! It’s why you haven’t managed to pin anything on _anyone_! So why?! Why _me_?!”

Alex opened his mouth, but no words came out. He didn’t know why. He couldn’t justify himself, maybe he shouldn’t have to, but this was Michael. Michael was asking and Alex couldn’t deny him anything.

“So why don’t I make this easier for you, Alex! We’re _done_!” Alex felt as though something was tearing out his heart with a grapefruit spoon. His eyes filled with tears. “This…whatever this thing is…is over! We’re finished!”

“No, Michael, please…” He reached out to touch Michael, to plead with him, to _please don’t do this_.

But Michael threw him off, nearly spitting with anger. “No! Go away, Alex! I don’t love you! Go!”

Alex stared into Michael’s face as tears streamed down his own and even though it hurt tremendously to even stand here, he had to hold on. Michael’s eyes were filled with tears themselves. “You’re a miserable liar,” Alex managed to croak out, and then he spun around and ran out, before he broke down completely.


	8. You should give me a chance (this can't be the end)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _**In this chapter:** In the past, Alex and Michael grow closer, but danger lurks. In the present, Alex tries to talk to Michael after their devastating conversation. Things are slowly starting to come together._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. This is gonna hurt. This chapter holds the absolute fucking worst scene ever written and it's mostly not even mine. I'm sorry in advance.
> 
> As always, a special thanks to Aileen (@acomebackstory), Callie (@callieramics), @hm-arn, @royalshadowhunter, @ladymajavader and May (@merlinss) over on Tumblr for their continued support and cheerleading. I don't know if I would've finished it without you guys!
> 
> So last week I kinda lied. I said I got my chapter titles from a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4nmkCfohbcOWNlGW4tMOD9?si=w7QjiBwNRhaD0H-uFKRORw) but I immediately changed up that pattern. I hope you guys still get it!  
Last week was, of course "Can't Love Me" by Novi and our very own Tyler Blackburn. @hmd23 guessed it again! They're racking up quite a score!
> 
> Can anyone guess this week's?

_December, 1924_

“Where are you taking me, Michael?”

“Just keep your eyes closed. Trust me, I won’t walk you off a cliff.”

“Thanks, now I’m less worried,” Alex said, his voice laced with sarcasm.

“Alex.”

“Fine! I trust you.”

Michael pressed a quick kiss to Alex’ shoulder as he guided him forward. And indeed he guided well; every step they took was deliberate and Alex didn’t stumble once.

They’d been together for about six months now. The beginning had been a bit awkward. Neither of them quite understood what it was between them, but they’d soon stopped questioning it. For Alex’s part, he really,_ really_ liked Michael. He felt all the things men were supposed to feel for women, except he felt them for Michael. He hadn’t dared put any label on it, yet. They’d both been burned too many times, so they’d been taking it slow. They’d gone out a couple of times, under the guise of doing homework or coming from work at the foster’s ranch.

The sneaking around got exhausting sometimes, but this thing blooming between them was what dragged Alex through the long weeks of summer holidays. It was like Michael’s kisses gave Alex some resilience to his father’s nagging comments.

Speaking of kisses…Alex, still with his eyes closed, stopped moving, pulling Michael back towards him and clumsily pressing their lips together. Michael laughed as their lips fully missed each other at first but leaned into the kiss either way. “Alright, cowboy, calm down. Plenty of time for that later,” Michael said, his voice dropping down a notch and sending shivers down Alex’s spine.

“Oh,” he said stupidly. Michael started pulling him forwards again. Blindly, Alex groped for Michael’s head, stole the cowboy hat from his head and put

“Okay, love,” Michael said, the easy term of endearment slipping out as easily as his name would’ve, and Alex’s stomach took a short dive, “Open your eyes.”

Alex complied. His eyes adjusted for a second, and then he didn’t understand what he was seeing for another. “Is this…my mom’s shed?”

“It is.”

Alex’s jaw dropped. His mother’s art shed, usually locked up tight because his father hated the reminder that someone left him and got away with it, was flush with the light of about a dozen candles. The art supplies were all neatly stacked in a corner, and Michael had used the newly acquired floor space for a lot of blankets, pillows and a small picnic basket. “Michael, I…oh my God.”

“I know your dad is away for the weekend, and today is exactly six months to the day we first kissed so I wanted to…celebrate,” Michael said, his cheeks tinging red and his fingers fidgeting with Alex’s fingers nervously. Alex could only stare. “Is it…too much?”

Alex snapped out of it immediately, Michael’s insecurity pulling him back to reality. “God, no! Michael, it’s perfect!” He grabbed Michael by the neck and pulled him in for a kiss that turned passionate quite quickly. “Thank you,” Alex whispered.

“You’re welcome.” Michael began walking Alex backwards slowly, shedding his own coat first and then Alex’s, discarding them on the floor. They were forgotten immediately. Their lips met in a soft kiss. Alex wound his fingers in Michael’s hair, his favourite place to keep his hands while they were making out, and pushed his entire body against Michael’s, not content with even a tiny bit of space between them. With only slight pressure, Michael managed to bring Alex down on top of the blankets and pillows, straddling his hips as they continued to kiss frantically. Alex felt Michael’s growing erection against his thigh and broke the kiss to look at him.

“You wanna do this?” he asked softly.

Michael’s eyes darkened. “Only if you want to.”

Alex groaned as Michael’s hips twitched slightly, providing a friction that was so heavenly it should be illegal. “God, yes,_ Michael_.”

“Really?”

Alex’s eyes opened in a flash, frowning at the genuine surprise on Michael’s face. “If you don’t come down here and kiss me, Guerin, I will start without you.” To prove his point, he drifted a hand down to his waistband, fingering the button of his slacks. Michael’s hands stopped him.

“Eager, are we?” Michael asked, leaning down and pressing light kisses to Alex’s face.

Alex bucked up his hips and they both groaned. “You have _no _idea.”

Michael caught Alex’s lips hungrily and they got lost in each other, shedding pieces of clothes as they went. Soon they were naked, and Alex became very aware of this. His breathing stuttered as Michael sat upright and Alex got a good look at the entirety of him for the first time.

And oh _God_, was he a specimen.

Alex’s breathing hitched as he ran his eyes from Michael’s face down to the hard planes of his chest and the slight rounding of his stomach. Michael had some scares, it was true, but it did nothing to take away from his beauty. Michael watched him drink him in with a slight smirk that Alex recognized as a mask to hide his fears. Alex reached out and ran his hands slowly, appreciatively over Michael’s chest, moving to his arms, and finally lacing their fingers together. Their eyes found each other again and they smiled, both slightly nervous. “Hi,” Alex breathed.

“Hi,” Michael returned, leaning down and pressing another kiss to his lips.

“You’re so beautiful,” Alex muttered.

Michael flushed. “Shut up.”

“‘And you’re beautiful, too, Alex’,” Alex said, poking Michael’s side, causing the latter to laugh, breaking some of the tension.

“Confident, are we?”

“Any reason I shouldn’t be?” Alex was teasing, they both knew it. They both had self-esteem issues to keep Freud busy for several years, but neither were in any mood to address them at this point. They were happy, for once, and too wrapped up into each other. It didn’t matter, for once. Nothing else mattered.

“Kiss me, Michael,” Alex said, after they’d stared at each other for a while, breaths falling in sync and their bodies humming from the proximity. Michael didn’t hesitate. He captured Alex’s lips in a kiss so ferocious it took Alex’s breath away completely. Michael rolled his hips, and Alex let out a moan quite unlike any sound he’d ever made before. He had no time to feel embarrassed, for it only spurred Michael on. Within a few minutes, both of them were panting and groaning, straining against the urge to completely lose it. Breaking the kiss, Michael raised his head just enough to be able to look into Alex’s eyes, and then his hand slowly ran from Alex’s chest down to where their bodies met. Without breaking eye contact, Michael wrapped his hand around Alex’s cock. Alex’s eyes widened and he gasped, one hand flying to grab hold of Michael’s neck. Michael kept his eyes on Alex’s face as he began to move his hand, slowly stroking, coaxing little noises from Alex’s throat, enjoying the way Alex responded to even his softest touch.

Alex, meanwhile, had lost all coherent thought. His entire focus had narrowed to Michael, the way his hand moved, the way those beautiful eyes stared at him, completely open and vulnerable, a positively hungry glint in them.

Somewhere in his abdomen, a pressure started to build. “M-Michael,” Alex whined, his hands looking frantically for purchase, which they eventually found in Michael’s hair. He pulled Michael down and captured his lips in a kiss. Michael’s movements never ceased, and within a minute, Alex was gasping, his head thrown back, his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth open in a silent scream.

“That’s it, Alex,” Michael whispered softly, looking at Alex with nothing but pure adoration on his face. “Let go. I got you.”

Alex came unlike he’d ever experience before. His entire body flooded with heat, from the crown of his head to the tips of toes, and his muscles seized up for a moment and then slackened entirely. He was gasping for breath the next moment, his heart thundering in his chest. “Oh…oh my God,” he finally managed to croak out. His eyes snapped to Michael, who was resting his chin on Alex’s chest, staring at Alex’s face as if he was trying to memorize every small detail. “Oh my God, Michael.”

“That good, huh?”

“That was amazing,” Alex panted, lifting a heavy arm to brush Michael’s curls from his forehead. Then he pulled him up, capturing Michael’s lips in a searing kiss. “God, Michael…”

Michael hummed against Alex’s lips.

It took another few minutes for Alex to regain a bit of his strength, but when he finally did, he immediately noticed Michael’s…predicament. Sitting up suddenly and startling Michael, he grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him on his back. “My turn,” Alex said with a smirk, and Michael’s eyes fluttered closed as Alex began to press heated, open-mouthed kisses to Michael’s chest, working his way down to where Michael needed him most.

“A-Alex,” Michael groaned, sounding like it cost him something to speak. “You d-don’t ha-have to!” he blurted out.

Alex looked up, locking eyes with Michael to make sure the latter understood him clearly. “What if I want to?”

Michael groaned, his head falling back against the pillows. “Then, for the love of God, keep going.”

Alex smirked and set to work.

It was awkward in the beginning. Alex almost gave up entirely, after he nearly bit Michael’s most sensitive area twice, but Michael was patient and caring and coached Alex between gasps and moans until Alex finally found a rhythm that worked for both of them. And suddenly it was Michael gasping and choking out _Alex’s_ name, and a heady feeling washed over Alex; a feeling of power and control. _He_ was doing this to Michael. _He _was making Michael feel good and stammer out attempts at his name and it felt amazing to have that kind of control over someone, to have that kind of trust that Michael only rarely gave out to other people.

“Oh God, Alex, don’t stop!” Michael cried out, as if Alex was planning to. “Alex, I – I’m gonna – ”

Alex released Michael with a _pop_ and replaced his mouth with his hand, working him over like Michael had done to him, and within thirty seconds, Michael came with a yell and a groan. Alex worked through the orgasm, slowing his movements until Michael’s breathing slowed down a little. Alex crawled up, feeling spent and sated as if he himself had just experience another orgasm. He dropped next to Michael on the blankets, using Michael’s chest as a pillow.

“Wow,” Michael said breathlessly.

“My sentiments exactly,” Alex whispered, running a single finger over Michael’s chest. Slowly, his heartrate was returning to normal, the adrenaline leaving his system, and suddenly he was shivering. Michael immediately reached out and pulled one of the blankets over them. They cuddled together, the warmth of the candles and their shared body heat washing over them, making them drowsy and sleepy. “What about the picnic?” Alex suddenly remembered.

“Later,” Michael murmured. They both fell asleep, blissfully unaware that _later_ would be too late.

They were just getting dressed, intend on having that picnic after their much-needed nap. They were giggly, still a bit in a daze, _happy_ even.

They should’ve known it wouldn’t last. Nothing good ever did.

Suddenly, the door to the shed flew open. Alex’s heart stopped. His father was standing in the doorway, an absolutely murderous look on his face. On instinct, Alex took half a step back, then moved in front of Michael.

As if he could protect him.

He was trembling like a leaf, already feeling the anger building in his father.

Jesse Manes was looking at the two of them, then entered the shed and closed the door. Fear coursed through his veins, but he remained still. Michael was behind him, and the last thing Alex wanted was for Michael to get hurt. “Dad,” he began, his heart in his throat as he saw his father making his way to the toolbox. Next thing, Jesse Manes held a hammer in his hand. _No, oh god no_. Alex panicked. His breathing became shallow and he brought his fingers to his lips. Behind him, Michael was frozen.

“How dare you?” Jesse Manes said quietly, menacingly. “Under my roof.”

“Dad, this has nothing to do with you!” Alex half-yelled, tears prickling in his eyes. In a flash, his father had him pinned by the throat against the wall. Michael let out a surprised yell, but Alex barely registered it. His breathing was being cut off and he was still very aware of the hammer in his father’s other hand.

“Everything you do!” his father yelled, “Everything! And I will not be _humiliated_…!”

From the corner of his eyes, Alex saw a flash of movement. “Don’t touch him!” Michael screamed, lunging forward.

Everything went very fast and yet terribly slowly. With a single, military trained movement, Jesse Manes grabbed Michael’s untrained fist as it came at his face. Alex fell to the ground gasping. He looked up. His father threw Michael towards the drawing table, grabbed the hand that had tried to hit him and brought the hammer down.

“NO!!” Alex screamed, his stomach coiling as he heard Michael scream in utter agony.

And then it was over.

His father was gone, Michael was clutching his ruined hand, and the dream they’d been living in for six months had shattered.

They’d never recover from that single, fateful night.

_Present day, 22nd of October, 1935_

Memories were a _bitch_, Alex decided.

After his terrible fight with Michael, he’d retreated to his cabin and had allowed himself exactly 10 minutes to give in, break down, feel every terrible, painful feeling he’d been suppressing for three days, and then forced himself to get back to work.

It’d been closer to 30 minutes, because every time he would force himself to calm down, the memories would come flooding back. The sound of a hammer finding its target; agonized screaming; the cruel twists of his father’s lips. It took him 30 minutes to finally get a grip on it.

Alex felt like he’d been run over by a truck.

And he had to go and find even more pain. Because Michael still didn’t have a solid alibi.

He found Michael in the dining carriage, sitting on a table, studying his left hand with a look of pain and grief on his face. Alex watched him flex the stiff fingers, winced when Michael did, and felt his heart ache. Michael got his hand maimed because of _him_. To protect _him_. It wasn’t fair.

“I’m sorry,” Alex said.

Michael’s head snapped up. “_Jesus Christ_. What does a guy need to do to get you to take the fucking hint, Manes?”

Every syllable was dripping with anger and disgust and Alex felt each of them stab his heart. “I’m sorry for everything. All of it. Your hand. My father. This mess. Dragging you into my life. I’m so sorry. You deserved better.” His eyes were brimming with tears again and he closed them angrily to push them back.

When he looked back up, Michael’s face had softened a fraction. “What makes you think you dragged me into anything?”

Alex shook his head. “I knew what my father was. Knew he would never approve. Knew what he was capable of. And I put you in his orbit anyway. It’s my fault. All my fault.”

“Hey,” Michael said, jumping down form the table and moving towards Alex. His eyes were still cold and angry, but his voice was now carrying some warmth and softness in it. “You didn’t drag me into anything. I walked into it, eyes wide open. I knew what your father was from the day we met, remember? I didn’t care. You were worth it.”

Alex doesn’t fail to notice the obvious use of past tense, but it still makes him feel a little better. “Does it still hurt?”

Michael looked down at his hand, flexing his fingers again. “It seizes up sometimes.” He sighed. “I haven’t been able to play guitar since that night.”

Alex closed his eyes, a single tear escaping. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

Michael sighed, “Yeah, I know.” The two of them stood in silence for a while, before Michael took a deep breath and sat back down on the table. “What did you come here for, Alex?”

“You know what,” Alex said, his voice flat. It was no use pretending. They both knew. The evidence was stacked against Michael. This was the second time Alex was coming to Michael, practically begging for a good explanation. They both knew there would not be a third time.

Michael hung his head. “Yeah, I know. You want to hear me say it. But I don’t know how to say it that’ll make you believe me.”

“_Try_,” Alex said, his tone pleading.

“I didn’t do,” he waved his hand at the general vicinity of his chest, indicating the way Noah Bracken had been murdered, “that. Alex, you have to believe me.”

“I want to so bad,” Alex whispered, shutting his eyes. Somehow, hearing Michael say it, didn’t help at all. “I want to believe that you didn’t do this so bad. Because I know you – or _knew_ you, and you are – were – not a murderer. Yet something in my brain is telling me that something’s off and I can’t…I don’t know what it is!”

“I was placing a call to Jack at 3am,” Michael blurted out.

“Who the fuck is Jack?” Alex asked, too tired for niceties, too raw from sheer pain, too ready to hear the words ‘partner’ fall from Michael’s lips.

Michael snorted, as if he knew what Alex was thinking. “Jack’s the conductor of the that’s set to relieve me in Paris. He’ll be the lucky bastard making this entire trip the other way around. We’re supposed to check in at every stop, to let the other conductors know we’re on schedule.” He glanced at the windows, where the rocky walls of the Simplon pass were still shooting past. “I guess they know we’ll be a bit late.”

Despite himself, Alex let out a laugh. But it was hollow, and it faded away just as quickly. “I’m sure you’re telling the truth, Guerin, but…”

“But it’s not good enough. Because we can’t prove it until you can speak to Jack.” Michael nodded, as if he understood, but his mouth was set in a bitter line. “I get it, Alex. I’ll just…stay in my cabin until we get to Paris. Or something.”

Without saying anything further, he left the dining carriage. Alex heard the door to Michael’s cabin slam closed. “God fucking damnit,” Alex cursed, slamming his fist against the wall, which accomplished very little, except that he now had aching knuckles to boot. He stood, frozen, for a while, trying to set his mind right. It did not have any effect.

Suddenly, Alex shivered. A cold gust of wind blew past him, rustling his clothes and sending shivers down his spine. He turned, saw a window open and went to close it, still shivering. As he was about to pull it shut, he froze.

His mind finally seemed to unlock, the thing that had been nagging at him for two days finally burst to the surface. _The window was closed when they went to bed. The train stopped in Vinkovci around 3. Body temperature suggest that’s when the murder happened as well. However, the window was open when we entered the cabin in the morning._

The window had been open.

Cold temperatures affects body temperature, Alex knew this from his many collaborations with coroners over the years. If a body was found in the snow, the amount of time it spent there was crucial to estimating the time of death. One hour of exposure could drop the body temperature as much as one degree, which can really screw up the time frame of a murder.

_The time of death is off_.

Alex suddenly remembered the scream he heard in the night. The person he saw moving into Miss Beth’s cabin.

_Half past 5. _

This not only changed the timeframe itself, but also the possible murderers. They’d been moving at half past 5. Unless the murderer had waited around for two hours before murdering Mr Bracken and then _jumped off a moving train_ – they didn’t stop until well after 8 that morning – that meant the murderer was definitely still on this train.

_If the murder actually happened at half past five…if the murderer opened a window to trick Kyle into miscalculating the time of death…_

But Alex stopped, his thoughts screeching to a halt.

No one else could’ve possibly known what cold weather does to a dead body. Only Kyle Vale had the training and the knowledge.

_Kyle Vale killed Noah Bracken_.

Just as Alex reached that new, terrible (but admittedly, also liberating) conclusion, he heard Miss Beth shout in the hall outside. Apparently, her wound has reopened. Alex nearly dismissed it, but then she said the two words that made everything click into place:

“_…can you come help me, dr Valenti?_”


	9. Come Back (I still need you)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _**In this chapter:** In the past, Michael and Alex, scarred both physically and mentally, part ways. In the present day, Kyle Vale's trustworthiness is called into question. Some new information about Michael comes to light, once again shaking up Alex' theories. Meanwhile, time is running out on solving this murder._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a special thanks to Aileen (@acomebackstory), Callie (@callieramics), @hm-arn, @royalshadowhunter, @ladymajavader and May (@merlinss) over on Tumblr for their continued support and cheerleading. I don't know if I would've finished it without you guys!
> 
> Last week's chapter title hasn't been guessed yet! I have to admit, it might be because it's a niche song? I have no idea about it's popularity, the only reason I know it is because we sing it in my Rock Choir. So it's still open, be my guest and keep guessing!
> 
> Can anyone guess this week's?

_February, 1925 _

Alex stood at the regional airport, the most basic of his belongings in a duffel at his feet, looking miserably at the small plane that would fly him to Albuquerque, where another plane would take him across the country.

Today was the start of basic training, and Alex was absolutely miserable.

He hadn’t even said goodbye to Michael.

Since the…incident, they’d barely seen each other. Alex’s father had put him on house arrest and Michael had been in hospital for a while. When he came back to school – the only place they could still safely see each other – his hand was in a thick bandage and he told Alex in clipped tones that it would probably never heal properly. Alex had barely been able to look at him and also noticed that Michael was avoiding him.

Alex never blamed Michael for that. No, that was Jesse Manes’ fault.

Jesse Manes, the man who called himself his father, who _threatened_ Michael’s life. After Michael had left that night, Jesse Manes had sat Alex down and instead of beating him, had done something far worse.

_“If you value that boy’s life at all, you will do as I say from here on out. The army is recruiting a new wave of soldiers. You turn 17 soon. You’ll start your training in February.”_ Alex had tried to protest, but Jesse Manes went on, _“You _will_ go into the army, Alex. They will beat this disgusting perversity of yours out of you. If you don’t go, or if you have the nerve to desert, a very nasty accident might happen to rash, hot-headed Michael Guerin.”_

Alex’s heart still ran cold at the memory, and he shut his eyes against the pain. He knew he had no choice, knew his father had finally found the one thing that would keep Alex in line. Threatening Michael was so much more effective than the threat of personal physical harm.

So Alex was here, five feet away from his father at all times, watching as Master Sergeant Jesse Manes conversed with the officer that was going to take him away from his home, his life, his Michael.

And Michael would never know why. Alex could still see the hurt and anger in Michael’s eyes when Alex told him he was leaving the next day. He hadn’t been able to tell Michael why, and it had sparked a fight between them unlike any Alex had ever had. Michael had stormed off, and Alex had left.

Maybe it was better like this, Alex tried to convince himself. Michael would be better off hating him. It would hurt less.

“Alex!” Master Sergeant Manes called authoritatively, and like an obedient dog, Alex came. “This is private Jackson. He’ll escort you to basic training.” Alex nodded to the young man, who seemed fairly nervous in the presence of the Master Sergeant. “Now,” Manes continued, “I expect you to uphold the valour and honour this society has begun to expect from the Manes family. Your brothers are war heroes. Try to live up to them. Then maybe, finally, I can be proud of you.”

Alex hated the way his heart jumped, hated that after all this time, making his father proud still held appeal. Alex hated everything about the man. But he was still his father. “I’ll try,” Alex said shortly. He took up his duffel and nodded to his father. “Bye, dad.”

His father gave no reply but watched Alex board the plane and the plane start to take off. “You did well,” Master Sergeant Manes said coldly. From behind a crate, Michael Guerin appeared, watching the plane take off with red-rimmed eyes. He didn’t comment, so the Master Sergeant continued. “This is what’s best for him, Michael. You pushing him away only made it easier for him to go after his destiny. It was the smart decision.”

Michael snorted, flexing his healed, but permanently disfigured fingers in anger. “It wasn’t my decision. You said you’d do to Alex what you did to me. I couldn’t let that happen. At least now he’s safely away from _you_.” Michael spat on the floor in front of Jesse Manes’ feet and turned on his heel, leaving the man behind.

On the plane, Alex was oblivious to this exchange. He and Jackson were laughing together, bonding over their mutual dislike of the Master Sergeant. “Hey, did you see the news?” Private Jackson held up the newspaper, and Alex took it. The paper was a local Roswell paper, the headline was in aggressive bold letters, shouting: **_Sheriff Jim Valenti found dead at Santa Fe, New Mexico home. Police suspect suicide_**.

“Jesus,” Alex murmured, scanning the rest of the article. Apparently, the unsolved case of Rosa Ortecho had always haunted him, even after moving to another town and trying to start over. The pressure and the guilt seemed to have finally gotten the better of him.

Rosa Ortecho’s murderer was still wreaking havoc, even five years after the murder.

_Jim Valenti (41) leaves behind a wife, who will take over his position as sheriff in the interim, and their fifteen-year-old son, Kyle. The family was not available for comment._

_Present day, 22nd of October, 1935_

“Son of a _bitch_,” Alex cursed, taking off towards the corridor, barely avoiding a full-on collision with a wide-eyed Max Evans as he made his way quickly towards the voice of miss Otto. Kyle Vale – no,_ Valenti, son of disgraced Sheriff Valenti, who killed himself because he couldn’t solve Rosa Ortecho’s case_ – was standing over her, inspecting the wound and looking up startled at Alex’s less than subtle entry. “You!” Alex said, his heart beating fast. “You’re Kyle Valenti, aren’t you? You’ve been lying about your identity all this time, haven’t you?”

Kyle’s eyes widened almost comically, basically giving himself away before he could ever defend himself. “Alex, you don’t understand…”

“No, I think I understand perfectly,” Alex said, controlling his voice with difficulty. “Your father was on Rosa Ortecho’s case. He couldn’t solve it and killed himself over it. This was cold-blooded revenge.”

Several gasps sounded behind him. Alex turned and realised he hadn’t exactly been quiet. Every passenger was standing at the door, staring at the two men staring each other down, with miss Beth sitting in between them, looking shocked. _Not very professional, Alex_. “_Kyle Valenti?_” he heard someone whisper incredulously.

“Alex, I didn’t – ” But Kyle could only bluster, his face red, as good as a confession.

“You knew the open window would speed up the temperature changes in a dead body. You purposefully pretended not to know that! You murdered him and opened the window and then lied to my face about everything!”

“No, I – ”

“It’s true, Alex, he didn’t!” Maria said loudly, pushing forward and shrugging off her mother’s hand. “I’m sorry, Alex, I lied to you. I was with Kyle the entire night. After our game of cards that night before, Kyle invited me back to his cabin for a nightcap, so that my mother could get some rest, and we just…kept talking. I promise, Alex. Kyle had nothing to do with this.”

Alex turned towards Kyle, who shrugged with a half-smile. But Alex was done. This entire case had fucked him over multiple times, nearly cost him his life and also cost him a second chance with the love of his life. He wasn’t going to bend so easily. “Then why was your identification altered? Kyle _Vale_?”

Kyle’s smile vanished immediately and opened his mouth to reply. He closed it again after a few seconds. “Yeah,” said Alex, scoffing, “that’s what I thought. Michael!” Michael stepped forward, his eyes barely meeting Alex’s. “Please take Mr _Valenti’s_ keys from him and lock him in his cabin. I want him locked up until the matter is resolved,” Alex said, throwing a hard look at Kyle as he did, who had the decency to look ashamed as he handed over his keys.

Alex turned around, but not before he saw the look Kyle was shooting Maria, who was looking wide-eyed at the scene before her. “Alex, you can’t – ” Maria said desperately, grasping Michael by the arm to stop him. “Michael, don’t let him do this!”

“Miss DeLuca, while I appreciate your input, this is the first solid lead this case has had so far. Unless you can provide me with a better one, I have no other choice than to detain Mr Valenti for the time being. If he _didn’t_ do this, we’ll know soon enough. If he did, do you really want a murderer in your midst for even a second longer?”

To that, Maria had no retort, and Michael escorted Kyle to his cabin. A dreadful, pressing silence filled the train. Even the noise of the engine seemed to bend to its presence. Alex immediately knew that the equilibrium had shifted; before, everybody could still believe the other innocent. Now they had a target. Someone they liked, someone they trusted.

Alex knew how they felt.

And yet.

It didn’t feel right.

Kyle was his best suspect, and yet only a fraction of the evidence pointed his way. It was more than to other people, to be sure. But still, Alex mused, it wasn’t his most solid case by far. He knew the courts would probably not even touch this case on this little evidence.

Sighing, Alex left Miss Otto’s cabin, with Beth still looking stunned, behind and went back to the dining carriage. He pushed open the door thoughtlessly, and found it was not empty.

“Michael, please, just a few more – ”

“ – no, Max, I can’t do this anymore! I can’t lie to – Alex!”

Michael and Max Evans were standing very close together, both with red faces and looking as though Alex just caught them having a very heated argument. “Is everything okay?” Alex said, suspiciously, closing the door behind him. “What can’t you lie about, Michael?”

“It was nothing – ” Max began, but Michael cut him off.

“Max, for once in your life, shut the fuck up.”

Both Max and Alex looked at him in surprise. Alex knew Michael had a foul mouth, but he was polite when he needed to be, when his job required him to be. He would never talk to guests this way… “What’s going on, Michael?”

Michael ran his hands through his curls, trying to make up his mind. “Damn it. Alright." He sighed. "I've been sick of secrets for a long time now. It's time." Alex frowned, his heart picking up its pace as Michael straightened up and looked him square in the eyes. Was Michael going to confess...? "You remember I told you my siblings found me?” Alex nodded, a realisation dawning on him. “Max is my brother. Isobel is my sister. I’m sorry,” Michael said to Max as the latter began to protest, and then again to Alex, who stared, open-mouthed, at the two, “I just can’t lie anymore. Not to you.”

“Michael, I – ” Alex looked from Michael to Max and back. The two couldn’t be more different. Where Max and Isobel shared the same bone structure, the same facial features, even the same shape of their mouths, Michael didn’t look anything like his siblings. He was soft where they were hard, wild where they were reserved. But now that he was looking closer, he could see it in the colour of Michael’s eyes and the set of his shoulders. “_How_?” he managed to choke out. “How are they both here? Why? Precisely on your train?”

Michael shook his head miserably, but Max stepped in. “Michael got us the tickets. We wanted to be with our brother. It was easy to pull Noah along. He didn’t even realize.”

“You realize how this looks, though. A man gets murdered, and his wife’s two brothers are on the train. One of which, they didn’t have contact with until a couple of years ago! What am I supposed to make of this?!” Alex was well aware his voice was beginning to crack. So many emotions raged through him. He wanted to get to know Michael’s brother, wanted that happiness for Michael, but he also was scared of what it all meant. The coincidences just kept piling up around Michael.

“Nothing,” Michael said, stepping forward and taking Alex’s hand. “You’re not supposed to make anything out of this, because it’s not anything! Alex, please.”

“Why did you lie?” Alex croaked, his eyes boring into Michael’s. “Just give me a reasonable explanation. You sat there,” Alex gestured wildly at the table they had sat at not a day ago, “and told you me your siblings found you and you just…neglected to mention they were on this train? _Why_?”

“Max asked me to. He didn’t want you to think exactly what you’re thinking now. Alex, I would do anything to protect my family. You know that better than most.”

“Oh, do I?”

“You think I got _this_,” Michael held up his maimed hand, and Alex flinched at the memory that surfaced with it, “for _fun_? You think I would’ve let you go to the army if I didn’t think you were safer there than you were with me?”

“_Let _me?!” Alex yelled, near hysterical now. “I _chose_ to go into the army! To protect _you_, from my father! He would’ve killed you, Michael! You couldn’t have stopped me, even if you tried! Which you _didn’t_!”

Max was backing away from the conversation, looking startled at this sudden change in subject, but Alex barely noticed. Michael was eyes were wide and tears were threatening to spill over. “I didn’t stop you, because your father threatened _you_! He said he would do to you what he did to me! And I couldn’t let that happen! Your father was going to kill you one day, and I knew that pushing you away and towards the army was going to save you!”

A ringing silence hung between the two of them as they processed what the other had just said. “He did _what_?” Alex eventually managed. Michael nodded, a few tears escaping. “So my father threatened both of us.”

“We both thought we were doing what was best for the other.”

“And in the end, it was Jesse Manes who got what he wanted,” Alex finished bitterly. “As per fucking usual.”

“I’m so sorry, Alex.”

Alex let out a broken laugh. “What for? You were trying to protect me, I was trying to protect you…we were both hurting and stopped communicating. _Jesus_, we’re both fucking idiots.”

Michael let out a surprised laugh as well. “Yeah, we are.”

And without waiting another second, Alex flung his arms around Michael’s neck and pressed him into a hug. Michael wrapped his arms around Alex’s waist and squeezed tightly. Alex felt warm and fuzzy inside, and for a second – as happened often around Michael – he forgot his current predicament. The hug lasted forever, or so it felt to Alex, and it made him feel warm inside, giving him a strength he hadn’t realized he had been missing. In the end, it was Max’s uncomfortable cough that broke the two apart.

“So,” Max said, scratching his ear, “you must be _the_ Alex Michael’s always going on about.”

Alex raised an eyebrow at Michael, who shrugged noncommittally. “I guess I am.”

“Then let’s start over. I’m Max Evans, Michael’s brother.” Max extended his hand to Alex, and Alex took it without hesitation.

“Alex Manes. I’m Michael’s…well, we don’t have a name for it.”

“I think I got what you two are from the many, many, _many _stories Michael has told us,” Max said teasingly, winking at the pair of them, earning a disgusted scoff from Michael and a chuckle from Alex.

Michael sighed, rubbing his forehead. “So what now?”

Alex rarely encountered three words that could change an atmosphere so profoundly. _What now_, indeed? “It’s all going in my book, that’s step one.” Alex took out his notebook and traced a line between Max, Isobel and Michael. _SIBLINGS_, he wrote over the line. “And as for after that? I honest to God have no fucking clue.”

The train slowed down and Michael, Alex and Max watched as the train pulled into a train station. The sign on the platform read LAUSANNE. They’d reached Switzerland.

Their final stop before Paris.

Time was running out.


	10. I can't keep it all together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _**In this chapter:** In the past, Isobel Bracken-Evans finds something that changes her life forever. In the present, time is running out and Alex is stuck. Michael is more and more honest, but is he as trustworthy as he seems?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little shorter than usual perhaps, but we're hurtling towards the end here. Anyone have any idea yet?
> 
> As always, a special thanks to Aileen (@acomebackstory), Callie (@callieramics), @hm-arn, @royalshadowhunter, @ladymajavader and May (@merlinss) over on Tumblr for their continued support and cheerleading. I don't know if I would've finished it without you guys!
> 
> So @Lire_Casander guessed both last week's title and the one the week before that. Chapter 7 was called _You should give me a chance (this can't be the end)_, which is one of the most heartbreaking lines of the song _Still in love with you_ by the Scorpions, and I always imagine Malex while singing it. I even made a [gifset of it](https://bichaelmanes.tumblr.com/post/186350994707/fight-babe-i-fight-to-win-back-your-love-again). Chapter 8 was called _Come Back (I still need you)_ which is from _Hold on_ by Chord Overstreet.
> 
> Can anyone guess this week's?

_June, 1934_

Isobel Evans-Bracken was clearing out the attic of their new house. They’d been living there for well over a year, yet the attic had filled up with their stuff fairly quickly, as stuff was wont to do. Old reports cards and art projects Mrs Evans had kept, and Isobel had never had the heart to throw away; pictures of her and her brothers before she and Max were adopted; toys from when she was little – okay, so maybe it was mostly _her _stuff. Her husband wasn’t a sentimental man, he barely had anything from his youth. Isobel knew precious little about that time in his life because it was very painful for him to talk about. She knew he fled a colonized, war-riddled country after the Great War and had a hard time adjusting to the States. But the circumstances that caused him to leave, the hardships of living in and not being accepted in a new, strange country, those details he had never shared with anyone.

She loved and trusted him anyway. If he ever wanted to share those details in time, she would be there to listen.

In the back Isobel found some boxes she didn’t recognize. There was no name scribbled on the sides and she couldn’t even remember these being part of the many, _many_ boxes the movers took upstairs for storage. Odd. She pulled one towards her and opened it, curiosity getting the better of her, as it often did.

“Izzy? Are you home?”

“I’m upstairs, darling!” Isobel called down as she took out several yellowed newspaper clippings. They were all connected to a 15-year-old cold case, a little girl who was murdered in Roswell, New Mexico. Isobel sorted through them, going from the first **_“Ortecho Family Drama Unfolds”_ **clipping, to the discovery of the body two weeks later. Why was Noah keeping these?

“What are you doing in the attic?” Noah’s voice was coming closer, climbing the stairs towards her.

“Oh, just sorting through some of my stuff,” she said absentmindedly as she flipped through the newspapers. “You know, old memories and – ” She broke off mid-sentence as she came to the date of the arrest of the one and only viable suspect. A picture was next to the short report of the arrest and the young man, whose identity was not known at the time. She knew it though.

It was Noah.

He was about 20 in this picture, and since it was 1920, the timeline matched roughly with him fleeing his country. He looked younger, thinner and harder. But Isobel recognized him immediately.

“Old memories?” Noah’s voice was now almost at the attic door and Isobel jerked out of her stupor. She stuffed the newspapers back in the box and pushed them to the side, grabbing some art projects from a nearby pile, just in time before the attic door opened and Noah came in, smiling. She held up her projects, working hard to bring a smile on her face and not giving anything away.

They spend the rest of the afternoon looking at her projects and old pictures and Isobel, having learned from early childhood to lie through her teeth, pretended nothing was wrong.

The next day, after Noah had gone to work, she went back to the attic and took out the box again. Now with more time she spread the newspaper clippings out before her and examining them more closely. Now she saw Noah’s tiny handwriting in the margins. If before she could pretend this was just her husband’s weird hobby, after reading some of his notes, she couldn’t deny the truth any longer.

His note under the news of the discovery of Rosa’s body was especially damning. W_eren’t supposed to find her this soon. Cover tracks immediately._

Isobel let out a single, shocked sob.

The note by the news that Jim Valenti had killed herself made her blood run cold. _Good riddance_.

Her husband had killed Rosa Ortecho and had gotten away with it.

She had married a murderer.

_Present day, 22nd of October, 1935_

“No one gets off this train without being accompanied by me or the staff from the other carriages, is that clear?” Alex stood in front of the train door, having arrived just in time to stop people from swarming onto the platform for one last breath of fresh air before the final leg of the journey. Every face he saw was mutinous, but Alex couldn’t risk anyone escaping. Kyle was locked up for now, but the mystery was by no means solved. Someone else still could’ve committed the crime, could still be planning to run.

“Can _I_ at least get out?” His father appeared beside the other travellers, his nose still very noticeably broken, a front tooth missing. Alex felt a savage pleasure at seeing the tables turned.

Alex shrugged. “I could literally not give any less of a fuck what you do with your time.”

Despite the hard feelings towards him, the other passengers sniggered, which made Jesse Manes turn red. He shouldered passed Alex and disembarked the train, letting in a blast of cold air. But it was clear they’d cleared the Alps; the cold wasn’t as biting as it had been. Michael stepped up, looking sheepish. Alex knew why; he was feeling it, too. They were each other’s _something_, which made this entire situation all the more complicated. They didn’t know how to act around each other. “I need to call Jack, tell him we’ve arrived at Lausanne.”

“Yes, alright. I’ll have to accompany you,” Alex said, opening the door and allowing Michael to get out ahead of him.

“Well, if you must,” Michael said, with a mock tone of exasperation. Alex followed him to the phone booth on the platform, then sat down on a bench a few feet away, taking out his notebook and going over it all for what felt like the eight thousandth time. He knew most of it by heart now, but that didn’t mean it made the mystery any clearer.

He was still immersed when Michael sat down next to him. “Jack says the _Compagnie _is not pleased by our delay. I told him to tell them to ‘stuff it’. I’m not sure he will.”

Alex snorted, looking up from his notebook and straight into Michael’s eyes. They were twinkling lightly, as if a murderer had never ruined this trip beyond repair. “You always did have a way with words.”

“I try.”

Alex shook his head with a smile and looked back down to his notebook. “I don’t think I can figure it out, Michael,” he said after a minute silence. Michael looked up, his eyes filled with sympathy. “Literally _anyone_ could’ve done this. Sure, there are several people with motive. Kyle, Max, Isobel – ”

“ – me,” added Michael, with a half-smile. At Alex’s shocked expression. “Come on, Alex, you know you can’t deny it. I have as much motive as Max has. I love Isobel. I don’t know if the allegations of abuse were true, but you know I would never have waited to find out if those rumours reached me.”

“Yes, but I _know_ you – ”

“You saying I’m not capable of murder?”

“No, I’m saying you wouldn’t have the patience to wait around and plan a perfect murder. You’re impulsive and rash and emotional and if someone hurts someone you love, you don’t wait to get retribution. You find it immediately.”

Michael choked out a surprised laugh. “Well, you’re not wrong. I’m surprised you still know so much about me.”

Alex brushed his hand against Michael’s, only briefly, but enough for the familiar rush of warmth go through him. “I don’t think I ever could’ve forgotten about you.”

Michael grabbed Alex’s hand and pressed a swift kiss to the back of it. “You’re a foolish romantic, Alexander Manes.”

“I know. Always been my problem.”

The two of them looked at each other, before Michael tore his eyes away. “So what are you going to do when we get to Paris?”

“I don’t know. I have to give the police something. There was a murder on this train. I can’t show up empty-handed after three days spent with all the suspects.”

“Tell me your thoughts,” Michael said, sitting up straight and giving him his undivided attention.

Alex blinked, surprised. “Okay,” he said, then opened his book. “Noah Bracken, 35, murdered in a locked room. Stab wounds to the chest. No stab wound is identical. It’s like the person stabbing him tried to make it look like different people did it.” Michael straightened further, giving Alex a nod to continue. “Isobel is the most obvious suspect, since she was in the room. But there’s nothing else that points to her, and if it’s true she took Barbital, she was physically incapable of waking up. Max Evans lied about being her brother and was seen fighting with Noah just a few weeks before the murder, possibly about Isobel. You brought on board the murder weapon – which you stole from my house fifteen years ago, I might add – and turned out to be Isobel’s other brother. Kyle has the strongest motive, seeing as his father killed himself in the wake of the Ortecho case. But he supposedly has an alibi, provided by Maria, whose alibi was first her mother and then Kyle, which makes her a very shaky character witness. Mr Otto tried to run, his daughter’s alibi has him sleeping. However, she was apparently also talking to Max Evans. The murder was committed at 4:30, not 3, a fact Kyle knew and decided to conceal, along with his true identity…” He trailed off, sighing deeply. “I’m at a loss. I don’t know what to tell the police. I can’t give them anything.”

“Would that be so bad?” Michael said softly, and Alex looked at him startled. “Noah Bracken was a terrible person, a _murderer_. Would it be so bad to, I don’t know, let his murderer get away with it?”

Alex rested his head against the station walls behind him and let out a long sigh. “I don’t know if I can. I’ve always had a very clear moral code. And no matter what crimes a person committed, they should always get a fair trial. Murder is not an excuse for murder.” He looked at Michael with a sad smile. “I’m a murderer, too, you know.” Michael looked back at him, shocked, and Alex swallowed. He’d never told anyone about this particular dark place of his psyche, but he pressed on. “I murdered dozens of faceless men on the battlefield. I am a murderer. And I got away with it. Because it was in service of my country. That…injustice to my victims will never go away. But I can try and give other victims justice. That’s why I became a private investigator after I was injured. To make up for the murders I got away with.”

“Oh, Alex…” Michael began, but then jumped up as the train whistle blew. “Jesus, we have to leave! Get on the train, quickly!”

They ran inside and only just jumped on when the train lurched into motion. Out of breath, the two men leaned against the train wall, both chuckling. “You know, Alex,” Michael said, turning his head to look at him with a smile, “I think you’re closer than you think you are. You have all the puzzle pieces, I’m sure of it. Now you just gotta find how they fit together.”

He closed the distance between them and pressed a light kiss to Alex’s lips, before sauntering off in the direction of his cabin. Alex stayed behind, biting his lower lip pensively, his thoughts whirling.

Most of his thoughts were devoted to the question that was driving him insane; _was Michael guilty or not?_ He tried his hardest to push it to the background, because he didn’t know the answer and it wasn’t helping. He still had almost a day before they would arrive in Paris and he needed to figure it out before then.

Even if Noah Bracken was an absolute monster, he deserved justice. Just like Rosa Ortecho had deserved justice.

Alex looked at himself in the reflection of a window. He scoffed when he realized the truth in his eyes; this hadn’t been about justice for quite a while now. It was a mixture of pride and protectiveness. Alex protected those he loved, and even ten years apart hadn’t stopped him loving Michael.

He wanted to solve this case to prove that he could. He wanted to solve this case to clear Michael’s name. Preferably, the solution would lead to both outcomes.

Worrying his bottom lip with his teeth, he went over to the Bracken’s cabin, which had been locked after Isobel had been moved into Miss Otto’s cabin for the remainder of the journey. He took out Michael’s keys and opened it. The body had been moved to the freezer in the kitchens for preservation, but the rest of the cabin remained untouched. Alex turned to look at the inside of the door, inspecting it closely, hoping to find any clue. A handprint. A hair. Anything that would help Alex in his search for the murderer. Not even the lock was picked, there were no scratches or signs of damage on it whatsoever.

It meant the killer had either had a key or had left through the window.

That information helped exactly no one, because those had always been the only two options of this murder, shy of Isobel having murdered her husband herself, which Alex still didn’t think the most likely of options. He straightened up and looked around the cabin. He crouched down, realized his leg wouldn’t allow it and sat down completely instead, changing his perspective. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine a scenario.

_It was evening, Mr and Mrs Bracken had just returned to their cabin, exhausted after a long day of travelling. “Darling, can you give me the Barbital, please?” Isobel asked. Noah handed the bottle to her without speaking. He changed into his pyjamas and got into bed, while Isobel rummaged some more. “I ordered some tea,” Isobel said, arranging her pillows._

_“That is excellent, my sweet,” Noah said, already half asleep._

_There was a heavy knocking on the door and the door opened to reveal Michael, who was holding a tea tray. “Here you go, Mrs Bracken,” Michael said, his eyes flickering to Mr Bracken, who threw him a dirty look for having woken him up. “A good night to you both,” Michael continued, seemingly unbothered. With a nod and a smile at Isobel, he left._

_Isobel poured out the tea and handed a cup to her husband. They drank in silence, before Isobel dropped a kiss to Noah’s cheek and went to bed herself. Noah dropped off to sleep almost immediately, but Isobel stared at the ceiling for a good long while._

Alex opened his eyes, wondering how close to the truth this scenario was. Was this when Noah Bracken had been sedated? Had Isobel put the Barbital in his tea? Or had Michael done that? He looked around the cabin again, trying to reset the scenario. He settled his back against the door and tried to get comfortable for a few rundowns of possible scenarios.

He was going to be here a while.


	11. How's it gonna be (when you're not around)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _**In this chapter:** We go back to a few moments before the train left Istanbul. In the present, things keep getting more complicated and more emotional, as time starts running out. Alex has a decision to make._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, the final chapter before the big reveal! I'm excited are you excited?? Do you have any theories???
> 
> As always, a special thanks to Aileen (@acomebackstory), Callie (@callieramics), @hm-arn, @royalshadowhunter, @ladymajavader and May (@merlinss) over on Tumblr for their continued support and cheerleading. I don't know if I would've finished it without you guys!
> 
> @hmd23 guessed it, last week's chapter title was from God of Wine by Third Eye Blind. Congratulations!
> 
> Can anyone guess this week's?

_19th of October, 1935, somewhere around 10am_

Alex was lugging his trunk towards the train, trying to find a _Compagnie_ employee to help him haul it aboard; he couldn’t really lift something this heavy above his head – his leg couldn’t take the weight for very long. In fact, he was already beginning to feel the strain of being on his feet for too long.

After nearly tripping over the man with a doctor’s coat slung over one arm, Alex sighed and hauled his suitcase over to a bench. He needed to sit down for a minute or two. He still had enough time before the train would depart. Panting heavily, he fell down on a bench and stretched out his leg with a hiss of pain. The walk to his hotel followed by the walk to the train station had taken its toll.

Grinding his teeth, Alex massaged his leg, cursing the bullet that shredded so much of his muscles but left so much of his nerves intact. Alex didn’t often complain; he’d always felt that he deserved this relatively small inconvenience after having killed so many people in Nicaragua for a cause he barely believed in. But sometimes, after a few days hard detective work, when his energy was low and his patience even more so, he would whine for a while. Sometimes his leg actually prevented him from solving cases, which always hurt him more than the actual wound did.

He didn’t become a private detective for fun. He needed to redeem himself.

Alex shook his head, trying to get his head out of this melancholic state.

“I don’t know how much longer I can pretend, Liz…” Alex’s eyes opened slightly, and he turned his head slightly as he heard a man’s voice drift his way. Behind him, near an empty ticket booth, hidden in shadows, two people were standing close, whispering together as if they were afraid to be seen together.

“Only one more week, _mi amore_,” replied a woman’s voice, “just one more and then we’ll finally be free. I’ll finally be able to go where I want. Just one more week, my darling, I beg you.”

“For you, anything, my love.”

“_Te quiero._”

Alex frowned, his curiosity spiked, but he stood up. This was obviously a very private conversation that he shouldn’t be listening to. He wasn’t on a case, he was on a holiday, and if people wanted to hide something, it was nothing he should be concerned about.

Without further ado, he stood up and began to haul his suitcase over to the Belgrade carriage, where an employee was finally able to help him board, and Alex forgot all about the conversation when his own love life came to slap him in the face not an hour later.

_Present day, 22nd of October, 1935_

Alex was stiff as a board when he emerged from the Brackens’s cabin. He’d been sitting on the floor for at least three hours, going through several scenarios in his head. Each time he went back, edited out the unlikely events, adding new ones and replaying it in his head until his head was spinning, and the scenario was incredibly detailed.

The problem was that none of the scenarios fit.

The most likely scenario he had right now was that Kyle Valenti somehow stole Alex’s knife _and _the keys from Michael’s cabin, put a sedative in the Bracken’s tea, waited until 4.30AM, unlocked the cabin, killed Noah Bracken by stabbing him several times, all in a different way to throw off anyone examining the body, then opened the window and left the cabin.

Yeah. Alex knew it was full of holes.

How had Kyle known about the knife? How had Michael not missed the keys that had been missing for _an entire night_? Why would Kyle have waited for so long?

There was another scenario, which was as full of holes as the Kyle Valenti one. This scenario had Michael Guerin as the killer. It would solve the knife and key issue. But why would Michael think about opening the window? Plus, Michael had no real motive. The abuse accusations were vague at best and Isobel denied them herself; she probably would’ve stopped Michael doing something rash.

Any other scenario was just laughable. Max didn’t know about the knife. Beth had an alibi for the entire night. Mr Otto didn’t seem physically capable. And again, neither of them had motives to speak of. Mrs DeLuca did have motive, but, like Mr Otto, not the physical capability. Maria had an alibi, albeit a weak one, but a motive that seemed too weak for a murder.

So he’d narrowed down his suspect list to Kyle Valenti, Isobel Evans…and Michael Guerin.

None of whom fit perfectly in the story, yet they had the weakest alibis and the strongest motives.

Exhausted and ready for some dinner, Alex limped over to the dining carriage. Most of the passengers were evidently already in there; all the cabin doors were closed. Except for Max Evans’s, which was opened just a crack. Soft voices emerged from it and Alex slowed down, unable to curb his curiosity. Through the crack he spied Max Evans sitting on his bed, with Miss Otto leaning her head on his shoulder, both looking extremely exhausted.

“I can’t wait till this trip is over,” Max said, lifting his hand to stroke Miss Otto’s hair gently.

“Me neither,” Beth said, her eyes closed but a small smile playing on her lips, “We will no longer have to pretend, _mi amore_.”

Whatever else was said, was lost on Alex. He was remembering that morning on the train platform, where he had overheard the two secret lovers talking. He hadn’t put two and two together up till now, but hearing Beth say those words – _mi amore_ – Alex was sure it had been those two he’d overheard.

Max Evans and Beth Otto were together? Why wouldn’t they have mentioned this? Didn’t her father approve? Or was there something more going on that Alex had completely missed?

And on the platform, Alex was sure he’d heard Max call her ‘Liz’… It was well known that Rosa’s sister had been called Liz, probably short for Elizabeth.

Alex couldn’t believe it. It didn’t make a lick of sense, and yet slowly things started to shift in his mind, forming a new scenario. Liz Ortecho, out for blood after her sister’s brutal murder, and her father, probably _Arturo Ortecho_ – _not_ Arthur Otto – boarding this train with Liz’s lover arriving separately, there for protection and support. Liz Ortecho, stabbing Noah Bracken in the dead of night. Liz Ortecho, Rosa Ortecho’s sister, finally killing the man that had destroyed her family all those years ago.

“Goddamn,” Alex muttered, as the scenario started to make sense in his mind. There were still pieces missing. But this meant there were already three people on board this train who knew Rosa Ortecho personally, two of whom were related to her.

_Coincidences are just clues you haven’t found yet,_ Alex always said. It was too much of a coincidence that Mimi DeLuca, Rosa’s housemaid, and Rosa’s father and sister were on this train together, with Rosa’s murderer. Not one of them had mentioned knowing each other before this train ride, either. Add to that the presence of Kyle Valenti, the son of the disgraced sheriff who never solved the case. Half the suspects could now be directly connected to the Rosa Ortecho case.

Alex’s eyes snapped open, never having realized he’d closed them to think. He had new questions to ask. The puzzle pieces were always there, but now they were falling into place, just as Michael had said they would.

_Michael_.

“Fuck,” Alex said again, and continued his way to the dining cabin, where he knew most of the passengers would be.

Michael was serving tea to Maria DeLuca when Alex entered. Their eyes met, and Michael’s face immediately blanched. Apparently, something in Alex’s face was enough to give him a start. He put down the teapot and made his way to Alex. Not saying anything, Alex pulled him to the farthest table, and put Michael in a seat. He sat down across from him. “What’s going on, Alex? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Alex shook his head. “Not quite. But I need to know something. You said you were tired of lying to me. So I hope the answer to my next question is going to be the truth.” Michael frowned, leaning away from Alex a fraction. Alex kept a close eye on him, on the face of the man he loved more than anyone he’d ever loved before and took a deep breath. “Did you know Rosa Ortecho, Michael?”

Michael’s face went pale, his body shot in a defensive position, and his eyes closed. Alex almost didn’t need a response, his body language had spoken for him. Then Michael suddenly relaxed and opened his eyes. Alex almost recoiled at the openness and vulnerability he saw there. “Yes,” Michael said, his voice soft and resigned, “yes, I knew Rosa.”

Alex’s heart was racing, his breath shallow. He hadn’t expected Michael to tell him the truth. Maybe he’d even hoped the coincidences ended with Liz, Arturo and Mimi. He didn’t know what prompted Michael’s honesty. He didn’t know if he liked it. “Talk,” he said, his voice constricted.

Michael nodded, put his hands on the table and leaned forward, so he only had to whisper for Alex to hear him. “I was living on the outskirts of Roswell, with an absolutely awful foster family. They barely fed me and the clothes I wore were from my “father”, so they were way too big. I knew I had to do something to survive. When I was ten, I ran into Arturo – Rosa’s father. He saw how thin I was, how ill my clothes fitted. I begged him for a job. He must’ve had a soft spot for strays, because he employed me – _a ten-year-old!_ – as the Ortecho girls’ babysitter. Rosa was my age, but my hard life had made me grow up faster than a normal ten-year-old, so it kind of worked. I worked for the Ortecho’s for almost a year, until the night Rosa Ortecho disappeared from the house. I adored that girl, and she disappeared without a trace. I couldn’t do anything. Nobody took a ten-year-old seriously when he said he wanted to help. Arturo moved out of town a couple of months later, and I was relocated across the state to a new foster family. I moved back three years later. That’s when I met you.”

Alex stared at Michael. He knew Michael had had a troubled youth, and that Alex had barely even scratched that surface, but he had never expected Michael to be connected to the Ortecho case. “_Jesus_, Michael.”

“I know,” Michael said. He didn’t say anything else. No denials, no explanations or alibis.

Alex stared at him, at a complete loss for what to do next. It was exactly like Michael had said; he _had_ had all the puzzle pieces and now they were beautifully, terribly falling into place. His blood was thundering through his body, the room suddenly seemed too crowded and too small and his breathing came in small bursts. “I have to – ” Alex tried, but his voice got stuck. He swallowed and tried again. “I have to leave this.” He jumped up and, very unsteadily, ran out the door, not stopping until he was in his cabin. He threw his back against the wall and sat down on his bed, his arms covering his head as he tried to control his breathing before his anxiety turned into a full-blown panic attack.

“Alex!” Michael threw open the door, making Alex flinch as the door bounced against the cabinet. “Jesus, Alex, what’s going on?” Alex could only shake his head, grabbing his hair in frustration and pulling on it to keep himself in the here and now. “Shit. Okay. Alex, I’m going to sit down next to you now,” Michael said clearly, and the bed dipped besides Alex. The sensation only made Alex’s panic worse. He felt trapped, scared, insecure, threatened. He couldn’t form coherent words. He was only aware of his fear, his greatest fear, of losing Michael forever. “Alex, come back to me now,” Michael said firmly. Alex could only shrink further into himself, letting out a strangled sob. “No, Alex, to _me_. I’m going to take your hand now. Let go of your hair, Alex.” Alex felt Michael’s warm hand on his and incredibly, his own grip on his hair loosened. “That’s it. Now I’m going to pull your hand towards me, and I want you to open your eyes and look at me the moment your hand touches my chest. Is that clear?” Alex couldn’t respond, but he didn’t have to. His entire focus had shifted from his panic to the feeling of Michael’s hand surrounding his. He felt Michael’s gentle, but firm pull towards him, and amazingly, Alex felt himself emerging from the deepest depths of his panic. When he felt Michael’s chest beneath his fingertips, with his steady heartbeat, he took a deep breath, lifted his head and opened his eyes. The dark eyes that met his were soft and warm, giving Alex the sensation of completely and utter security. “There you are, good job,” Michael said with a smile.

“How did you know?” Alex said, his voice still a little shaky.

“I’ve had my fair share of panic attacks. Isobel is a genius at getting me out of them.”

Alex leaned forwards and rested his head on Michael’s shoulder, the steady rise and fall in time with Michael’s breathing an oasis of peace. The panic was quickly receding to the background, but his heart was still thundering like he’d just run a mile and his breathing wasn’t evened out yet. “Thank you,” he said softly.

Michael just put his hand on Alex’s back and held it there until Alex had calmed down slightly. “The puzzle pieces came together, huh?” he said, eventually.

Alex let out a pained laugh, which more resembled a sob. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“Yes, you do,” Michael said firmly.

Swallowing hard, Alex lifted his head to look at Michael. He looked resigned but at peace at the same time. Alex shook his head. “Then I don’t know what I _want_ to do.”

Michael’s eyes closed momentarily. Then his lips pulled into a smile. One hand came up to rest on Alex’s cheek, his thumb stroking his cheekbone. Alex closed his eyes, enjoying the touch. “Whatever you choose, my love,” Michael said softly, making Alex’s heart flutter, “I will love you anyway.”

Alex’s eyes flashed open and the two of them stared at each other. It had been so long since anyone had said those words to him, and they filled Alex with a warmth that replaced his former panic. “Even when I – ” He couldn’t finish the sentence, but Michael understood immediately.

“Even then. I’m tired of the lies and the secrets and this goddamn train ride. No matter what happens at the end of it, I will love you until my dying breath. That’s a promise.”

Alex felt a single tear escape. It didn’t help in his decision-making process, but it soothed his uncertainty a tiny bit. “I love you, too, Michael. Always have, always will.” He pressed his forehead against Michael’s, and the two of them breathed each other in for a long time before anything else was said. “This is the worst case I’ve ever had to solve.”

“I know,” Michael said softly. He pressed his lips against Alex’s for a second. “It’s okay. If anyone is going to destroy me – ” Michael looked straight into Alex’s eyes, showing all the love and trust and openness he could. “ – it might as well be you.”

The weight of those words hit Alex square in the chest. They were real, true and as much of a confession as Alex had heard so far. Alex wrapped his arms around Michael and held him tightly, unwilling to let this moment go so soon. Nothing was okay, of course. Michael was surely aware of that. Nothing about this entire case was remotely okay.

“When do we arrive in Paris?” Alex asked, his voice hoarse.

Michael leaned back to check his watch, without completely letting go of Alex. “Time of arrival is, after the delay we’ve had, October 23rd, a little past noon. So roughly 16 hours left.”

Alex nodded. “Alright then.” Biting his lower lip, he nodded to himself as he reached the beginning of a decision. “Can you tell everyone to be in the dining carriage in an hour? Make sure my father isn’t there, he’ll only make it worse. I’ll share my findings with everyone then.”

Michael nodded, pressing a kiss to Alex’s forehead. “I will.” He rose to his feet. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yes,” Alex said, his voice gaining strength as he felt his inner strength returning. “I have a decision to make. And only I can make it for me.”

Michael nodded in understanding, pressed one final kiss to Alex’s hand and left him alone in his cabin. Sitting cross-legged on his bed, Alex took out his notebook and began to write down the puzzle as it had fallen into place in his head.

He had a decision to make, indeed, and he’d better be quick about it.


	12. What is lost will be found (when the truth hunts you down)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _**In this chapter:** The truth._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god guys. Here we are. I'm so nervous about this chapter because I am equally excited and nervous about your reaction to it! After this, there's only an epilogue left. Enjoy, and please let me know what you thought of it!
> 
> As always, a special thanks to Aileen (@acomebackstory), Callie (@callieramics), @hm-arn, @royalshadowhunter, @ladymajavader and May (@merlinss) over on Tumblr for their continued support and cheerleading. I don't know if I would've finished it without you guys!
> 
> @hmd23 guessed it, last week's chapter title was from Third Eye Blind again. Congratulations!
> 
> Can anyone guess this week's?

_January, 1934_

Liz Ortecho, now 23 and wise beyond her years, entered the little cabin she had rented, a newspaper clutched in her hand. They were living just outside of New York, trailing a ghost that refused to be found.

They’d travelled all across the country; starting from New Mexico, they went to San Diego, Sacramento and Seattle, travelling north past the Canadian border, even going so far as Calgary, before returning to the States to follow even the smallest hints of Rosa’s killed.

Five years they’d searched. Five years of barely any food, finding work wherever they could, and constant disappointment. They’d built up a steady network of informants, through a mix of bribery, good Samaritanism and flirting, but apparently Rosa’s murderer instilled fear in the hearts of men. Not many were willing to sell him out. Those who were, quickly dropped off the radar after that.

Liz knew she was being watched. She’d seen the shadows in the corner of her eye, the unremarkable cars in her rear-view mirror. She knew, if she ever got truly close, she’d probably end up dead. But she was determined and so were her travel companions. Rosa’s killer needed to be unmasked, taken off the board, or he’d kill again.

“I have news and you’re not going to like it!” Liz announced as she entered the tiny living room. The other two women immediately joined her at the table. Liz smacked down the paper, pointing at a small article, accompanied by a picture.

The immigrant man Sheriff Valenti had had to let go because of lack of proof. Looking fancy and happy, standing next to an absolutely gorgeous blonde young woman. “That’s him,” her friend said, her voice shaking, “that’s Rosa’s killer.”

“I’m pretty sure, too, yes. Sheriff Valenti was never able to get any proof, but…he’s the only suspect we have. Either we cross him off the list or we get the bastard. Either way, we need to find him.” Liz looked at the picture, her face hardening. “And he just made it extremely easy.”

The headline read: **_Oil Mogul Noah Bracken (33) and noted event planner Isobel Evans (25) tie the knot in Malibu_**.

Liz looked up at her companions, who looked back with the same determination on their face. “Alright, call everybody. Michael, Kyle, my dad…” She felt her lips pull into a sardonic smile. “We’re going to plan a murder.”

Maria and Mimi DeLuca nodded, heading off to pack up their stuff and call the cavalry. Maria had grown up with Rosa, had been her best friend for as long as she could remember. Mimi had taken care of Rosa, and Liz when she came along, for years. When news reached them of Rosa’s disappearance, Mimi had wanted to return immediately. Mr DeLuca’s illness prevented that. When Michael called another few weeks later to tell them Rosa’s body had been found, just days after Mr DeLuca’s own passing…something broke in Mrs DeLuca, and she was never the same again.

Both were extremely determined to hunt down and kill the monster who killed that little girl.

_Present day, 22nd of October, 9PM_

Alex was standing in front of the passengers that had occupied so much of his mind for the past three days. He looked over all of them, and he wondered why he hadn’t seen it before, why he’d missed all the little things that could’ve tipped him off. He wondered if he was getting rusty.

They were all sitting in the dining carriage, their chairs moved to face Alex, who was standing with his back to door. He had always been able to command a room with just his silence, and now, too, people were waiting for him to speak.

“Thank you for coming,” Alex began, his eyes locking with each of them in turn. Isobel Evans, Max Evans, Beth and Arthur Otto, Kyle Vale, Maria and Mimi DeLuca and…Michael Guerin. All of them liars. All of them trying to hide themselves from him. But the jig was up, the curtain had fallen, and Alex could see clearly now. He continued. “I have a decision to make. I need to decide what to tell the police when we arrive in Paris tomorrow. And I was hoping you all could help me.” He saw the surprise on Michael’s face, and most of them exchanged worried and confused looks.

“We all know there was a murder here on this train. I have been working relentlessly to find out who did it, and after three days of hard searching I have narrowed it down to two theories. I will lay out these two theories before you now.”

Several people shifted in their seats, others smoothed down their clothes. Alex couldn’t help a small, half-smile that played around his lips. “My first theory is as follows. In 1920, Noah Bracken kidnapped and killed Rosa Ortecho in revenge over a workplace dispute with her father, Arturo Ortecho.” Alex let his gaze fall on Mr Otto, who blushed and lowered his eyes. “Rosa was loved by many, and her death instilled a rage in the hearts of those who loved her, none more than in the heart of her sister, Liz Ortecho.” His eyes moved over to Beth, whose eyes were already filled with tears. “So, presumably when she turns 18, Liz sets out to find her sister’s murderer, aided by her sister’s best friend Maria, and the latter’s mother and the Ortechos’ former house maid Mimi DeLuca.” Beth, Maria and Mimi all looked at each other uneasily. “Somehow they find out who Rosa’s killer is. Maybe they saw him on a train. Maybe they read about him in a newspaper. It doesn’t really matter how; they find him anyway. So they bring in the cavalry; Rosa’s father, still grieving for his eldest daughter; Kyle Valenti – ” Kyle shifted in his seat but kept his eyes steadily on Alex, though Alex could see the tears forming in them. “ – the son of the Sheriff who tried to find Rosa’s killer and failed, killing himself with shame of it – ”

Alex took a deep breath and turned his eyes on Michael, who looked at him with clear eyes and an expression of love and acceptance on his face. “ – and finally, Michael Guerin, the boy who took care of the Ortecho sisters when he couldn’t take care of himself. Six people, who all loved and adored Rosa, who all wanted to see justice for her death, a justice the system would never give them.”

“Rosa was the brightest star on this planet,” Liz burst out, tears falling freely down her face now. “She was happy when things got tough, when dad had to work long hours, when mom died. She loved and laughed and _lived_ and that _monster_ took her away from this world.”

Alex merely acknowledged this outbreak with a simple bow of his head, then continued. “So they devise a plan. A plan that would bring them justice for Rosa, that would – if carried out properly – help them get away with murder. It soon becomes clear they can’t get close to him. Noah Bracken has transformed himself from illegal immigrant to an oil mogul; rich, powerful and, in almost every sense of the word, untouchable. So they approach his wife. Isobel Bracken, née Evans, who may have already figured out who her husband really is…”

“He had a box,” Isobel whispered, her voice hoarse, her eyes hard and filled with disgust. “A box filled with newspaper clippings and writing. He _boasted_ about killing that poor girl. Kept track of what the police knew. Disappeared when he needed to. I had unknowingly married a _monster_.” Max put a hand on hers, and she trailed off again.

Alex continued again, as if he had never been interrupted. “Isobel, having figured out who her husband really is, realizes nobody will believe her. Noah Bracken is rich and powerful, surely he would never harm a child? So when Rosa Ortecho’s loved ones show up with half a plan, she knows the only way out is through; she has to kill her husband. She knows someone in the police department of Roswell, someone with access and credibility and _skills_. Her own brother Max. This is also presumably how the two siblings find their long, lost brother; by planning a murder.”

“I couldn’t believe it when we suddenly were face to face,” Max muttered, glancing towards his brother. “After searching for so long, to find him in the middle of this awful tragedy.”

“So now the group is 8, and they need a plan. A plan that can help them get away with murder. A plan so intricate that even the most brilliant minds would have a hard time finding the truth.”

“Such modesty,” Michael muttered with a small smile, and despite everything, the group chuckled.

Alex smiled, too, but continued. “And then, a window of opportunity. Noah Bracken has a meeting in Istanbul with other big oil companies, and Isobel manages to convince him that they should make this a little holiday. Fly to Istanbul, spend a few days there, and taking the scenic route back; the Orient Express. A little…second honeymoon, as it were. What reason would Noah Bracken have to doubt his loving wife? She’s an exceptional actress and has not once slipped up in her façade of loving him, though she has known, at that point, for a long time. So, they come together to plan the perfect murder.”

Alex started pacing slowly up and down the dining carriage, his leg already twinging, but biting through the pain, nonetheless. He needed to get through it, he needed to know their reactions to his theory. “Isobel has her own income from her business, so she buys out an entire car on the Orient Express, two for her and her husband, and 6 for the remaining group. Michael gets a job at the _Compagnie_, getting himself stationed aboard the Istanbul-Paris line. There needs to be a minimum appearance of foul play. Coincidences is where they hope to confuse and befuddle anyone who tries to look closer. Simply _coincidence_ that Isobel’s brother is on the train. Simply _coincidence_ that the Ortechos’ house maid and her daughter are on board. _Coincidences_ hide facts more completely than people think. This group of avengers realize this.” Alex looked at all of them in turn. Liz was still silently crying, with her head on her father’s shoulder, who in his turn looked stricken, almost sick. Mimi and Maria were sitting straight-backed, staring right at him, almost challenging him to continue. Kyle stared at his hands. Michael merely looked at Alex, an expression of pure wonder and awe on his face.

It almost made Alex falter.

“They needed a weapon that would also be a coincidence. The knife Michael always carried with him, because it reminded him of his first great love.” They locked eyes and for the first time, a single tear escaped Michael’s eyes. Alex’s heart ached. “And so they plan, first finding the perfect time to commit the murder. Kyle has medical training, and he knows that cold decreases body temperature faster than usual. So the time of death needs to be when the train passes through the coldest regions; the Alps. The decreased body temperature will not only throw off the time of death to a time that coincides with a brief stop and will provide alibis for them all. For who is awake at 3 the morning? Isobel starts taking sleep medication, weeks, maybe even months in advance, complaining of insomnia to her doctor who is fooled – again, she is a terrific actress – so that she cannot be the murderer; she was asleep, heavily medicated, so how could she possibly have killed her husband?”

Alex stopped for a moment to prop himself up on a table, unable to take the twinge in his leg any longer. “And so, on the morning of the 19th of October, 6 seemingly random people board the Orient Express, pretending not to know each other, knowing they are stepping into a closed environment with a murderer. In the evening, either Isobel or Michael put a sedative in Noah Bracken’s evening tea.”

“I did that,” Isobel said, her voice strong. She looked hardened and sure of herself, a stark comparison to the shocked and traumatized girl Alex had seen that first morning. “Michael brought the tea, but I put the Barbital in his drink. I knew if he woke up at any point, he would be able to fight back and win. He was a terrifying man, Mr Manes.”

Alex inclined his head. “At 4AM that night, everybody sneaks towards the Brackens’ cabin. Every one of these people has a reason to want Noah Bracken dead. So instead of just one person committing this murder, the knife Michael brought exchanges hands. This has the added benefit of thoroughly confusing any coroner examining the body, because not one of the stab wounds has the same depth and patterns. So every single one of the hurt and grieving people takes a stab at Noah Bracken’s chest, ending his life like he ended Rosa’s, justice finally done, Rosa’s spirit finally at peace.” Alex took a breath, examining the faces of the people in front of him. Liz and Arturo were quietly sobbing, Max holding Liz’s hand tightly. Michael’s face was wet as well, but a small smile played around his lips, too. Kyle was white as a sheet, his face taut with emotion. Maria and Mimi were holding each other’s hands tightly, their knuckles turning white. Isobel just stared at Alex, an open challenge. Alex let them all absorb the information he had laid out so far.

After a minute or two, he cleared his throat. “Now there was one thing none of them counted on. Passenger number nine. The unknown variable. I believe they tried to fill it with someone they trusted, a Miss Cameron. But she never showed up, so the cabin was given to a man who had already tried to get a ticket to Paris, but failed. _Me_. When the group realized a renowned private detective had somehow gotten aboard the train and _straight into their meticulously planned out murder_, I believe they panicked. Maybe they tried to blow the whole plan off, to try again at a later date. But they knew this was their _one_ shot. So they went through with the plan. I think Michael was supposed to be my distraction, an actual coincidence that we had known each other in a previous life. He’d always been rather good at that, and maybe he was supposed to be that again. And it worked. For a while.”

“In the end, it was you who distracted me,” Michael said, with a shrug. “Long enough to understand that you are more important to me than anything in this world.”

Alex’s heart twisted in the best way, but he ignored it and continued on. “The group tried everything to throw sand in my face. The fake identification papers were a stroke of brilliance. The broken timeclock. Even stabbing Liz. I presume that was your doing, doctor Valenti.” Kyle inclined his head. “I still don’t understand the placement of the half-burned newspaper clipping, though – ”

“ – that was Noah’s doing,” Isobel interrupted, shrugging. “When he realized you were on board, he burned all his _memorabilia _he always carried with him, so you couldn’t inadvertently catch him. You scared him, Mr Manes. And my husband didn’t scare easy.” She gave him an impressed smile.

Alex inclined his head towards her slightly. “In the end, I realized I should’ve seen it before. Should’ve realized who each and every one of you was. I think Michael’s distraction worked beautifully. If only it had worked a little longer.” He let a silence fall, the group digesting Alex’s words slowly. Michael reached over and squeezed Alex’s hand. Alex squeezed back.

The silence stretched between them all, as each tried to compose themselves. After a few minutes, when even Kyle had lifted his head to look Alex in the eye again, Alex pushed himself off the table and went back to the middle of the room, facing all of them. “It’s the most plausible theory I have, it is true. But it is not bulletproof. While I have uncovered every identity, I have not a single shred of proof.”

“You said you had another theory?” Michael said, sharpest of them all, the love of his life, and Alex smiled.

“I do. After I lay out this theory, each and every one of us is going to have to make a choice. A choice that we will have to live with, one way or another.”

“Share it with us, Alex,’ Liz said, wiping her nose on her sleeve and looking up at him, trust in her eyes. She _trusted_ him still, after all this.

Alex inclined his head. “Noah Bracken was murdered at 3AM when we were stopped in Vinkovci. An unknown assassin slipped on board this train while the conductor was making his scheduled telephone call, killed Noah Bracken in his sleep and locked the door to incriminate his sleeping wife. Then he slipped out through the window, which he left open, and disappeared into the night.”

A stunned silence fell in the dining carriage. Everyone was staring at Alex, then at each other and then back at Alex. Alex knew it was the simplest theory of all the ones he’d run through his head, and the one that had the least chance of ever being proven wrong. “Are you…are you serious?” Isobel said, leaning forward and staring up at Alex. “That’s…that’s your other theory? After you spend 20 minutes explaining your first one?”

“The simplest theories are often the truest, Ms Evans,” Alex said with a small smile that made Michael chuckle. “Every investigator knows this.”

“But in this case…” Liz started, but Alex held up a hand.

“In this case, I am faced with a choice. A choice of what I will tell the French police that will be waiting for me in Paris. If I choose option 1, _you_ will all go to trial for murder. You may get off, since the theory I have is merely a theory. But your lives as you know it will be over. _I_ will have to live with putting the man I love and good people to whom bad things have happened, behind bars.” Alex swallowed thickly. “If I choose option 2, you all walk away from this, and we will all have to live the rest of our lives knowing the truth. You will have to live with blood on your hands. And I will have to live with letting murderers walk free.”

Alex put his hands in his pockets as he looked at all of them. They were all looking at him, scared, afraid of his judgement, of his choice. But Alex shook his head. “I cannot make this decision alone. This is going to affect all of us. So we are all going to make a choice. And whatever we decide, that decision will haunt us for the rest of our lives.”

A stunned silence followed that. Alex looked at them all in turn, ending on Michael’s face which was filled with love and hurt and fear, mixed with just a tiny hint of pride.

“So,” Alex said, “what’s it going to be?”


	13. You bring out (the devil in me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _**In this chapter:** A month before departure, the final plans are made for the murder. In the present day, a choice is made._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you this would be the epilogue didn't I? I'm such a liar <strike>no I'm just chaotic</strike>. THIS is the last chapter and the NEXT chapter is the epilogue. I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> As always, a special thanks to Aileen (@acomebackstory), Callie (@callieramics), @hm-arn, @royalshadowhunter, @ladymajavader and May (@eddiediazs) over on Tumblr for their continued support and cheerleading. I don't know if I would've finished it without you guys!
> 
> @hmd23 guessed it, last week's chapter title was, of course, THE Malex Reunion song; When The Truth Hunts You Down by Sam Tinnesz. Fitting, I thought, with the truth finally being revealed.
> 
> Can anyone guess this week's?

_Early September, 1935_

They had all met in Arturo’s restaurant. It was far out the way of everything most of them knew, and Isobel could pretend to scout the place for future events. It was private, it was perfect, and to Liz, it was home. Her dad had made his famous pancakes with whipped cream, and despite the dark cloud of their plan hanging over them all, they were all eating enthusiastically.

She and Max had weirdly, morbidly, connected through all this. He was the only one outside her immediate family who had understood immediately the pain and the suffering she had been through. And more important, what she needed to put an end to it.

Liz looked around the table, a warm feeling blooming in her chest for all of them. They were all here for Rosa. Rosa had somehow touched every single life in this restaurant, touched them so deeply that they were willing to commit a mortal sin for her. To finally put her spirit to bed. Liz looked up to the ceiling, for a second having the illusion that Rosa was floating right there, looking down at them all and smiling. Liz smiled, too.

“Hello, everyone!” Isobel pranced into the room (Liz wasn’t sure the woman could walk any other way), holding a big envelope, followed by a fierce young woman in a leather jacket. Liz frowned, but Isobel seemed to read the room immediately. “This is Jenna Cameron. Max introduced us, she is going to help us with our identification issue.”

Jenna grinned at every one of them, taking out a smaller envelope from her jacket and taking out several documents. “Isobel has explained the situation best she could, and I agreed to help. I have new identification papers for the Ortechos,” she tossed some papers to Liz and Arturo, “for a Mr Valenti – oh, _hello_, don’t you look fine – and for Mrs Bracken. I have removed your maiden name so as to not alert any detectives to your relationship to Max. Mrs and Ms DeLuca, your relation to the girl can be easily explained by coincidence, it can be considered reasonably distant.”

Liz opened her papers and saw a new name ‘Beth Otto’. She smiled. It was close enough to her own name that she could respond quickly if someone addressed her as such, but far enough that people weren’t going to put two and two together.

Isobel, meanwhile, had taken her seat at the end of the table, had accepted a plate of pancakes and was digging in happily, while shoving her own envelope across the table. “There’s the train tickets, there’s one for each one of us, except Michael of course, who is going to be stationed on the train on the ride in question. I have filled the last spot with Jenna, so we have complete control over the carriage, there’s going to be no outside influences.”

Liz nodded, taking out her ticket and putting it with her identification papers. “Now, is everyone absolutely clear on the plan? Let’s do a round. We board the train at 10:15AM on the 19th of October.”

Max, next to her, continued. “We pretend we don’t know each other, don’t greet each other, don’t make any contact.”

Michael went on, “At around 10PM, after dinner, I’ll bring by a tea tray, which Isobel will then spike with Barbital.”

“At 4:25AM, we will all move silently towards Isobel and Noah’s cabin. Isobel will let us in,” Liz’s dad continued.

“We will each take Michael’s knife and…stab him – Noah – once, and only once, then make room for the next person,” Maria said, swallowing thickly. Liz understood. It had seemed rather distant, the murder they were planning, but it was becoming rather real.

“Liz will deliver the final blow, straight to the heart, and will then hide the knife in her cabin” Mimi continued, her eyes fiercely determined.

“I will open a window to let the cold air in,” Kyle said, looking as though they were discussing a standardized case at the hospital.

“And I will lock the door behind you, go to sleep and then wake everyone up with my screams and cries a couple of hours later.”

Liz nodded. “And remember: no contact of any kind. No talking, no communicating with each other in any other way than co-passengers, exempting of course me and dad, and Maria and Mimi, as we are already going as parent and child.” She looked around them all, and each face stared back at her with fierce determination. “We’ve been working towards this for years. Waiting, following, trying to move on. But Rosa’s death demands justice. And if the system won’t give it to her, then we will come and get it. I know it’s going to be hard. We are all going to have to live with what we’re about to do. But remember why we’re doing this. Remember that bright little girl that loved to make everyone laugh and held your hand if you were sad. Find strength in her radiance. Remember Rosa Ortecho.”

They all raised their glasses in the air and chimed together. “For Rosa!”

“For Rosa,” Liz whispered.

_Present day, 1935_

Alex stepped out of the train in a blaze of sunshine. It was wonderfully warm and safe, as if the entire horrid train ride hadn’t happened. That wasn’t true, of course, it very much had happened, and Alex could feel the weight of his decision settling on his chest, making it difficult to breathe. He wondered if it would ever truly leave.

“Alex?” Alex turned and watched Michael disembark, pulling their suitcases out with him. “Are you okay, my love?”

Alex shrugged, gesturing helplessly to his chest. “I’m going to have to live with this for the rest of my life.”

Michael nodded, taking Alex’s hand and squeezing it gently. “We all do,” he said, nodding to the train door.

The passengers of the Istanbul-Paris car were disembarking the train slowly, stepping into the sunlight, just as Alex had, and stopping for a second to feel the warmth on their faces. Alex looked at every single one of them. Liz and Mr Ortecho disembarked first, helped with their luggage by Max. Liz looked absolutely exhausted, as if she hadn’t slept in years. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, and Alex knew she had been crying for a great deal of the night; he had heard her sobs through his cabin wall. Mr Ortecho looked ten years older than he had the day before.

When they saw him standing on the platform, they came over to shake his hand. “Thank you, Mr Manes. It’s been…interesting.”

“That it has. Let’s make sure we never meet under these circumstances again, yes?” Alex said, giving Liz an encouraging smile.

She gave him a watery smile. “Don’t worry. It was a once-in-a-lifetime situation.”

“I would think so,” Alex said.

Liz laughed and kissed him on the cheek, and then Michael. “Bye, Alex. Bye, Mikey.”

The two of them moved away, and Michael stared after them, half-annoyed, half-amused. “_Mikey?_” he called after her, and she just waved him off. Michael shook his head and Alex laughed.

Max came over to hug them both. Alex was a little caught off guard by the sudden show of affection from the man, but then again, they were kind of family now.

“I hope we do see each other again, Alex. You have made Michael happier just in these few days than I have seen him in the past two years.” He gave Alex a playful punch in the shoulder, and Alex let out a laugh. “Means you’re family now, Manes.”

“Thanks,” Alex said with a grin as Michael giggled, “that really means a lot, Max.”

“Alright, see you around. Bye, little brother.” He and Michael hugged, before Max quickly followed his girlfriend off the platform.

“He looks intimidating but is actually a very cuddly bear,” Michael said, shaking his head at his brother’s retreating back. Alex burst out laughing again and pressed a kiss to Michael’s temple. It felt amazing that he would just…get to do that from now on. They were on their way to being good again. There was still a lot to talk about, a lot of things that went unsaid that definitely need to be said, but for now, this was enough.

“Alex.” Kyle appeared in front of them, having just disembarked the train. He looked exhausted too, but also lighter somehow. It seemed that solving Rosa’s murder had relieved him of an always present anguish. “Thank you. I wish we would’ve met under different circumstances. I think we really would’ve gotten along.”

“We still did,” Alex said, taking Kyle’s outstretched hand. “I know you want to put this behind you, but if you’re ever in Paris, don’t be afraid to look me up. We can talk about the most recent medical advances.”

Kyle cracked a smile that lit up the station. “I would enjoy that. You’re staying in Paris, then?”

Alex nodded, glancing at Michael, who was smiling broadly all of the sudden. “For now, at least. I had a case lined up in New York, but after this week I need a vacation. And I hear Paris is quite liberal.” He took Michael’s hand in his to show his meaning and Kyle grinned again.

“I hope you get everything you want, Alex Manes. You’re an amazing human being.” And with that, Kyle took off as well.

He was immediately replaced by Maria and Mimi, who pulled Alex in a bone-crushing and soul-warming hug. “Thank you, Mr Manes. And I’m so sorry for all we put you through,” Mimi DeLuca said, taking his hand in her small ones, holding them like a mother might hold his hand. Alex immediately felt a lump form in the back of his throat.

“I would say ‘my pleasure’ but I think we all know that would be a lie,” Alex said gently, causing the two women to burst into laughter. “But thank you, Mrs DeLuca. You are an amazing woman.”

“Bye, you two.” Maria waved at them both and then supported her mother out of the station.

The only one who remained now was Isobel, who had clearly intentionally waited for last. First, she wrapped her brother in a tight embrace. “Take care of yourself, Michael. When I’ve got my life back on track, I’ll come visit you and Alex.”

“I would love that,” Michael said, squeezing his sister against him tightly. “Are you going to be alright, Iz?”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll have to deal with the aftermath, of course. Your version of events cleared me, of course,” she said to Alex, a grateful smile spreading on her face, “but now I have to deal with funeral arrangements and telling the people what a monster he was. I will show that cursed box to the world. I will show everyone that there is one less murderer roaming free. Nobody will mind, I think, that he is dead.” She turned to Alex. “I cannot thank you enough for what you have done. I know it can’t have been easy. I’m forever in your debt, Alex Manes.”

Alex inclined his head, politely, but was thrown off balance when she hugged him too. “Take care of my brother, Alex. He needs a little extra love,” she whispered in his ear.

“Yeah. We’re both fucked up people, but we’ll take care of each other. I promise,” Alex whispered back.

Isobel kissed him on the cheek, hugged her brother one more time, and then pranced off. Michael stared after her, his hand taking Alex’s on instinct. “She’s remarkable,” Michael said, love and affection for his sister pouring out of every pore.

“That she is,” Alex agreed. He was watching his father disembark with the police. He had not been happy with the explanation Alex had given the police an hour earlier, but in front of the officers, he hadn’t been able to do more than just grind his teeth. But Alex had left the fear for his father on that snowy cliff. Even though he knew Jesse Manes was about to come over, he felt no trepidation or nerves. He was ready for whatever Jesse Manes threw at him, because, at the end of the day, his father was a pathetic man who lived his life in bitterness and hatred. Alex saw now how weak that made the man.

The police officers nodded at Alex as they passed, and Alex nodded back. They hadn’t been particularly happy with the explanation either, but Alex’s reputation had lent credibility to his words. The murderer got away, lost in the snow and the dark. They would probably never catch him.

Jesse Manes spotted the pair of them standing there and Alex saw his face harden. His father paced over to them and stopped right in front of them. Michael and Alex looked back at him, holding hands, stronger together than Jesse Manes was, all on his own. “That story was absolute bullshit, Alex.”

Alex raised a cool eyebrow. “Oh? You’d rather I would’ve said ‘Arturo Otto did it, officer, because he is a Mexican’? Don’t answer that,” Alex cut across his father as the latter opened his mouth, “I know you would have. But that is simply not the truth. You see, dad, any person is capable of doing terrible things. You’re a white man and you’re still the most terrible person I have ever come across. And I deal with murderers on a regular basis.” Jesse Manes went red instantly, and Michael stifled a laugh in his hand. Alex pressed on. “My _‘story’_ is the only sound theory that I was able to come up with. None of the people on that train are guilty. I’m sorry it denied you the opportunity of seeing someone dragged away.”

Jesse Manes sputtered for a while, then his eyes landed on Alex and Michael’s clasped hands. “At least have the decency to act _normal_ in public!” he hissed.

Alex looked down at their hands, back at his father, and grinned. “Okay,” he simply said. Before either Jesse or Michael could say anything, Alex had yanked Michael towards him and captured his lips in an absolutely filthy kiss. People around them…paid them absolutely no mind. It wasn’t an uncommon sight in Paris, two men kissing on a train station. Hell, most Parisians had seen more intense stuff on the streets. They didn’t care. The only one who cared was Jesse Manes, who fumed and cursed and yanked his son away from Michael. Alex spun around and landed a blow right to Jesse Manes’s jaw. Pain shot up through Alex’s knuckles, but he ignored it as he watched Jesse Manes stumble backwards.

“_Never_ touch me again,” Alex said, menacingly. “You cannot _ever_ lay your hands on me again. I’m tired of being afraid of you, tired of trying to be a ‘Manes man’. I’m Alex. I’m gay. I love Michael and he loves me. And you are just a guy I used to know.”

And taking Michael’s hand in one, and his trunk in the other hand, he turned around and walked towards the exit. Michael was still grinning when they arrived in the main hall. “That was fucking _brilliant_!” he said, holding tightly to Alex’s hand as they navigated their way through the crowds of people.

Alex grinned at him. “It felt really good. It’s everything I’ve wanted to say and do since before I knew how to fight.”

“You were amazing,” Michael said, his voice laced with awe and wonder and love and just a tiny bit of sex. Alex felt his spine tingle and immediately decided to find a nearby hotel. The catching up would have to wait, first they had to release some energy. “So are you really staying in Paris?”

“Well, it depends,” Alex said, shrugging a little.

Michael slowed to a halt and pulled Alex to a stop as well, turning him so they were facing each other. Michael’s face was suddenly very serious. “On what?”

Alex released his trunk and lifted his hand to touch Michael’s cheek gently. “On wherever you go.”

Michael blinked for a second, absolutely thunderstruck, but then pulled Alex in for a kiss. “You are such a sap,” he whispered when they parted.

“You love it.” Alex nipped lightly at Michael’s bottom lip.

“So you’re not a ‘Manes man’, huh?” Michael said, and Alex blinked at the sudden change of subject.

He pressed another kiss to Michael’s lips, then pulled back. “No, I don’t think I am.”

“No more Alex Manes.” Alex nodded. Michael fidgeted with Alex’s fingers, as if suddenly nervous, but he looked into Alex’s eyes, steady and unafraid. “So you wanna be Alex Guerin?”

Alex’s jaw dropped, the question taking him completely by surprise. He stared at Michael for several seconds, in which Michael had time to completely second-guess himself and in addition scold himself for being so damn stupid. Alex saw it all happening on his face, so when Michael opened his mouth to apologize, Alex covered it with his hand. Michael stared up into his eyes with surprise, as Alex leaned forward to touch his forehead to Michael’s. “More than anything in the world,” he whispered, and he instantly felt Michael relax. He dropped his hand and let Michael kiss him, sweep him off his feet and spin him around. Alex laughed into the kiss, surprised at Michael’s strength and feeling the happiness bloom from his heart, spreading through the rest of his body.

“I love you,” Michael said after he put Alex gently back on his two feet.

Alex kissed Michael once more, softly this time. “Love you, too.”

“Wanna get out of here?” Michael said, his voice laced with suggestion.

Alex’s smile spread into a feral grin and picked up his suitcase. “Let’s.”

So the two of them walked towards the exit, hand in hand, towards the busy Parisian street flooded with sunlight, and towards a future that was completely theirs.


	14. I thank the oceans (for giving me you)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _**In this chapter:** Michael and Alex reflect on that fateful train ride._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to make you wait a full week for this epilogue! I can't believe it's over you guys, what a wonderful ride! I hope you guys enjoyed it. And if anyone has an au in mind that they want me to ride, hit me up! I'm looking for new inspiration!
> 
> As always, a special thanks to Aileen (@acomebackstory), Callie (@callieramics), @hm-arn, @royalshadowhunter, @ladymajavader and May (@eddiediazs) over on Tumblr for their continued support and cheerleading. I don't know if I would've finished it without you guys!
> 
> Last chapter hasn't been guessed yet, so give it a go!
> 
> Can anyone guess this chapter's?

_19th of October, 1945_

The war was over. Paris had been liberated for over a year, but the war itself had only been over for 5 months. Michael and Alex had recently returned to their city, to find it miraculously undamaged and their flat only marginally ransacked. They’d never had much valuables anyway. They cleaned up their flat, settled back into their lives and it was almost as if the war hadn’t happened.

Alex and Michael had waited out the war in the countryside, living with a large farming family who treated them like their own. In the last year before the liberation, a young child who’d lost both her parents in the camps joined them, and Michael and Alex became her surrogate parents. When they returned to Paris, she came with them.

Alex was looking at her sleeping now, his darling girl, the beautiful and genius Mara. If he hadn’t known she wasn’t related to them, he would’ve sworn she was Michael’s kid. Cheeky, optimistic, chaotic and infinitely smarter than him. Alex loved her so much it ached to look at her now.

It was 4AM. The house was quiet and dark, the autumn chill already creeping in through the windows and the cracks. Alex shivered, gave his daughter one last look and returned to his own bedroom, to his husband in their bed. He crawled back under the covers and pressed himself against Michael, who was always warm and chased away the night chill. Michael jerked awake with a hiss. “Jesus Christ, Alex.”

“Sorry,” Alex muttered, buried his cold nose in Michael’s neck.

“You okay?” Michael asked softly, flipping over and wrapping his arms around Alex. “Why were you out of bed?”

“It’s been ten years.”

Michael looked at the clock on his nightstand and let out a long breath. “It has.”

Alex closed his eyes and curled into Michael’s chest. It was the reason he’d woken up so suddenly. His nightmares only rarely brought him back to that fateful train ride anymore, but tonight they’d come back with a vengeance. On the day Noah Bracken was murdered, setting events in motion that eventually led to Alex letting 8 people get away with murder. “Do you regret it?” It was a question they always asked each other around the 19th.

“No,” Michael said, his voice trembling a little. “Never. None of us,” Alex knew Michael meant the 8 passengers with whom he had committed the crime, “would’ve been able to move on if we hadn’t done it.” Alex nodded. “Do you regret letting us get away with it?”

“No,” Alex said, without hesitation. “Noah Bracken was a monster. He deserved punishment, and the system wouldn’t deliver. You did. It wasn’t just, but it was right.” He sighed, wrapping his arms around Michael and squeezing tightly. “But it’s something I will always have to live with.”

Michael nodded, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Yeah. Me, too.”

Alex looked up at his husband, his heart melting when their eyes met. The ten years since the Orient Express had been kind to him. The curls were still as wild as ever, Michael had even grown them out more, providing Alex with plenty of hair to run his hands through. His eyes were filled with warmth, love and laughter. There were small wrinkles in the corners of his eyes now, and those on his forehead reflected the worries and burdens he’d had to bear these past ten years.

They’d both grown up. Both seen and done stuff they carried with them forever. But they’d fought for their love and their life and they’d won. They’d survived the war and even managed to raise a child together.

“You know, when all is said and done, I’m grateful for that train ride,” Alex said, nudging Michael’s nose with his own.

“What do you mean?” Michael asked softly, nipping Alex’s lips with his.

Alex pressed a kiss to his husband’s mouth and smiled. “Because it brought us back together. Despite the terrible things that happened there, we found each other again. I never thought I’d see you again, and then I stepped on board that train and there you were. You were haunted by the ten years since we’d last seen each other, troubled by the horrible crime you were about to commit. But still beautiful. You were cold and distant, and yet I knew instantly I had never stopped loving you.”

Michael nodded. “I instantly knew that the plan was doomed, when I saw you. I knew I wouldn’t be able to lie to you for too long. For ten years, I loved you from afar and suddenly, there you were, in the most critical moment of my life.” He shook his head. “I’m still impressed with myself I lasted as long as I did.”

Alex laughed. “Well, you never actually told me anything. I figured most things out by myself.”

“You were scarily accurate, I was so proud.”

“The world is built on logic – ”

“ – one just needs to learn to see it,” Michael finished with a smile. “You are still insufferably modest.” Alex just shrugged and snuggled close to his husband again. “I love you, Alex Guerin.”

Alex’s stomach did a summersault, as it did every time Michael called him by his full name. He’d left the ‘Manes’-name behind long ago, but hearing his married name spoken with so much love and adoration that Michael always put into it, always made him giddy. “I love you, too, Michael Guerin.”

Michael leaned in for a kiss, the two of them entwined together in their bed. The kiss started out chaste and loving, but as Alex pulled Michael’s hips against his own, it turned hungry fast. Michael groaned, and Alex felt a burning longing to draw out more lovely sounds. With one swift movement, he pushed Michael on his back and climbed on top of him. Alex pinned Michael’s hands against the pillow beneath him and dove in for another hungry kiss. He pressed his hips down into Michael, drawing out another sweet moan from his throat. “Alex,_ please_,” Michael whined when Alex broke their kiss to trail his lips down Michael’s throat. “_Please_, my love…”

“I like it when you beg,” Alex murmured, playfully biting at his husband’s earlobe.

“I like it when you _get me off_,” Michael growled, bucking his hips to cause some more friction between them. Alex gasped and Michael looked victorious. Alex sat up, his hands braced on Michael’s chest. Michael’s hands immediately found purchase on Alex’s hips.

They were both still fully clothed, and that was unacceptable. With a swift motion, Alex got rid of Michael’s shirt and then his own, letting his hands roam appreciatively over Michael’s chest. No matter how often Alex looked upon his naked husband, he never became any less attractive. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

“Yes, yes,” Michael said impatiently, arching off the bed when Alex playfully flicked a nipple. “Now, _please_, Alex!” He sounded absolutely wrecked, and Alex grinned. They hadn’t even started yet.

Alex bent down and trailed kisses from the hollow of Michael’s throat all the way down to the waistband of his pyjamas. “Don’t move, Michael. You know the drill.” Grabbing hold of the pants, he began, slowly, _torturously_, pulling the pants down, trailing kissing on newly exposed skin as he went. Michael was panting heavily, his hands fisted in the sheets as he tried to keep himself from grabbing Alex’s hair and kissing him senseless. Alex grinned against the inside of Michael’s thigh, lightly scraping his teeth against the sensitive skin there, causing Michael to shiver. He looked up to see Michael biting his lip to restrain himself, and Alex tutted, sitting up and pulling Michael’s lip from between his teeth. “None of that,” Alex chided, letting a single finger absentmindedly slide up Michael’s cock, with only the lightest of touches. “You know I want to hear you.”

“You _fucker_,” Michael growled, “_God, please_, I can’t take it, please, Alex, god damnit, _fuck_…”

Alex laughed, leaning over to the nightstand to grab the bottle of lube stashed there. He sat back up and moved to sit between Michael’s legs, who spread them eagerly. “Look at you,” Alex whispered. “So eager.”

“_Fuck_ you,” Michael spat, his eyes half-closed with pleasure. Alex enjoyed Michael’s absolutely filthy mouth when Alex was toying with him like this. He knew Michael was enjoying this as much as Alex was.

“I think I’d rather fuck _you_ today,” Alex said, coating two fingers in lube. He bent over Michael, pressed a small kiss to the tip of his weeping cock and then took him in his mouth. Michael let out a string of curses and threw his head back. While Alex was sucking him off, he spread his ass a little wider and gently pushed a single finger inside him. Michael groaned as he felt Alex enter him.

Alex watched his husband closely, watching the familiar and wildly attractive look of ecstasy come over his face. He gently began pushing his finger in and out, allowing Michael to adjust to the presence and waiting as long as needed before pushing the second finger inside as well. Michael let out a wrecked sob, music to Alex’s ears. He hollowed his cheeks around Michael’s cock, and Michael gave a strangled yell. “That’s it,” Alex whispered, letting Michael’s cock pop from his mouth, “let me hear you, my darling.”

“_Alex_,” Michael whined, looking absolutely wrecked as Alex pushed his fingers into Michael again and again. “_Please, _I’m ready, please, _please_, my love…” Michael’s face was flushed with pleasure and despair, Alex felt his own cock throb, desperate to fuck his husband. But he wasn’t going to do _anything_ before he was sure Michael was well and truly ready. So he picked up the lube, dribbled more on his hand and then gently added a third. Michael sobbed. “I love you, I love you, I love you, _please_, Alex…” he babbled, his head thrashing against the pillow, and Alex knew he was ready.

He fished a condom out of the nightstand and hastened to put it on himself. “Alright, my darling,” Alex whispered, leaning over Michael to kiss him softly, “I got you.”

Michael raised his hips, his entire body begging for Alex to just _fuck_ him already. Alex lined himself up and slowly pushed into Michael, allowing him time to adjust. Michael let out a long, drawn-out moan that made Alex nearly come on the spot. “Oh baby,” Michael croaked out, “Alex…please…_move_.” He jerked his hips and Alex hissed, pleasure shooting up his spine. Alex obeyed, pulling out and pushing back in, finding a rhythm they had perfected over the last decade, that he knew would unravel Michael faster than anything else. “Yes…” Michael moaned, reaching up to grab Alex’s head and pull him down. Their mouths crashed together, and they kissed sloppily, between moans and heavy breaths, as Alex sped up his movements gradually. “I love you,” Michael whispered, wrapping his arms around Alex and burying his face in Alex’s shoulder. Alex let his head drop against Michael’s shoulder in return, trying to hold off his own orgasm. But he was close. And he could tell Michael was as well.

“I love you,” Alex whispered. Michael’s hips jerked, sending a thrill of pleasure through Alex, making him gasp and bite down on Michael’s neck. Michael groaned. “Come on, baby,” Alex urged him. “Come for me, I want to feel you come for me.” He reached down and wrapped a hand around Michael’s cock. Michael jerked, his hands flying into Alex’s hair.

“So – so close,” he panted. His eyes were locked on Alex, and they looked at each other intently as they drove each other to the brink. Soft _ah, ah, ah’s_ slowly turned to high-pitched whines and soon enough, Michael exploded underneath Alex’s expert ministration. Alex didn’t slow down, but fucked through Michael’s orgasm, now chasing his own. Michael let his hands roam down Alex’s back and grabbed his ass, pulling him even closer. Alex lost all control. Growling, he sped up, so close, wanting…_needing_. “Come for me, Alex Guerin,” Michael whispered, and that was that on that. For a second, everything went white as he came, shuddering, his arms giving out and falling, wrecked, on top of his husband, who caught him effortlessly.

They lay together, panting, for several minutes, Alex still inside of Michael, neither feeling any inclination to move. “God, that was amazing,” Michael finally said, drawing a laugh from Alex. “It’s like you get better every time.”

“You make me want to be better. Watching you come apart beneath me is…highly arousing.” Alex finally extracted himself from Michael’s embrace, pulling on his bathrobe and padding over to the bathroom to dispose of the condom and clean himself up. He returned with a warm, damp towel and he cleaned Michael best he could, despite the man’s genuine dislike of moving after sex. When they were both a semblance of clean, Alex fell into bed again, wrapping his arms around Michael and closing his eyes. There was light on the horizon, signalling that the day was about to start, but neither felt the need. Friday was their day off, and they wouldn’t have to move until Mara demanded breakfast.

The events of that one week ten years ago would always be a part of them. October would always be a difficult month. But they had each other, they had Mara, they’d made a life for themselves, as good, upstanding citizens. Life wasn’t always easy, but Alex felt that with his husband and his daughter there with him, he could handle anything.

So Alex snuggled closer to Michael and closed his eyes, knowing the nightmares wouldn’t come back today.

He fell asleep, content and happy, with Michael right there next to him. Side by side.

Where they belonged. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos and comments, so I know whether you guys like it!
> 
> also find me on tumblr @bichaelmanes


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